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ELEMENTS OF liIIETORIC;
D!ISIGNIW AS A

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l\IANUAL OF INSTI-tUCTION.

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BY

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HENRY COPPEE A. M.,
II

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PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE UNITERSITY OF PENNSI"LV.\NIA j
LATE PRINCIPAL-ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF" ETillCS AND ENGLISH
STUDIES" IN THE UNITED STATES MILITARY .~C.U>EMY
AT WEST POINT; AUTHOR OF "ELEMENTS

I
,I

OF LOGIC,'' ETC.

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"Now it is by the eense that RnxTomc holds of LoG1c 1 and by the c:rpt·euion that t1he bold1
of GnAMMAR."-Dn.

CAMPDKLL.

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PHILADELPHIA:

PUBLISHED 13Y E. II. BurrLER & co.
1850.

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PREFACE.
IT is only within a few years that the subject of
Rhetoric has been thoroughly studied, and that those
making it a special study have sought to introduce it
as a part of elementary education.

Entered, accordin g t.o Act of Congr ess, in th e year 1850, by
E . II. BUTLER & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the Dist rict Court of the United States, in noel for t he
East ern District of l'en nay lvnnia.

Most of the text-books have treated Rhetoric as a
higher sort of Grammar, and have failed to recognise
its true relation to Logic.

But its logical relations

form its primary and most important division.

Dr.

:Blair's charming lectures, on verbal and literary
criticism, have been used as an epitome of the art
of Rhetoric for elementary instruction, quite apart,
it must be thought, from the author's original design.
Full of excellent illustrations, and treating the grand
division of Style with great ability and interest, he
has not touched upon the rhetorical arrangement of
argument, and the invention of discourse.
When the author of the following pages undertook
the preparation of a text-book, his first observation
was th at all form er works may be ranged into two
(3)

v

l'ltEFACE.

PREFACE.

distinct classes; in the :first class were the pliiloso-

in treating of a subject, which, as a whole, is seldom

pliical treatises, of great value, but sealed books to

grasped, although many parts of it have been cur-

young students by reason of their depth and tech-

rently studied, and much appertaining to it has been

nicality...,

books, which treat chiefly of style, and give forms

investigated.
To mention the numerous sources from which he

anJ exercises ,for perfecting one's self in the rheto-

has derived valuable information would require too

rical use of language.

much space.

IV

In the other ·were the more elementary

Holding with Dr. Campbell that Rhetoric is allied

He would, however, especially notice

Whately's "Elements of Rhetoric;"

Campbell's

to Logic in the sense, as well as to Grammar in the

" Philosophy of Rhetoric ; " Aristotle's " Rhetoric

expression, the author has attempted to give a clear

and Poetic," translated by Buckley, with Hobbes'

exposition of the art of constructing discourse; by

Brief; and many treatises on Logic and Grammar.

the application of philosophy to practice.

Beginning

:~ · Impelled by the great want of such a text-book, and

with clear definitions, the art is divided according to

'actuated by the desire to form a work suited to his

its three great functions of INVENTION, ARRANGE-

own classes, the author ventures to express the hope

lVIENT, and STYLE.

The place of Rhetoric among

·that this little treatise · will commend itself to his

the arts is then determined; then a lucid analysis of

brother . instructors, who may have felt the same

the DIFFERENT

want.

KINDS

OF DISCOURSE is given; and

after this, the great functions just mentioned are
treated in their order.

While in most other works

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA,

old illustrations, handed down from generation to
generation, have been used, the author has chosen
his examples from the Bible, and, as far as

possi~le,

from modern English and American writers.
His effort has been to be perspicuous and simple

1*

March 1, 1859.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
RHETORIC.
PAO.II

Section 1. Definition of the Term, and Historical Scope of the
Science
2. The Early Uses of Rhetoric
3. Rhetoric in Ancient Greece
4. Grecian Institutions which aided the progress of Rhetoric •
5. Confused Notion of Rhetoric in early days .
6. Want of Just Classification
'l. Cicero and Quintilian .
8. Modern Errors
9. Of the Relations subsisting between Logic, Grammar,

13
14
16
18
20
22
23
26

28

and Rhetoric
10. Objections to Rhetoric as an Art •

32

CHAPTER II.
DISCOURSE.

38

Section 11. Of the Purpose of Rhetorical Discourse

(7)

............

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Vlll

TADLE OF CONTENTS.

TABLE OF CONTENTS;

PAOF.

PAn r·:

8ccLion ] 2. Four Jfod s of Discourse

38

13. Co nvi ction nnd Persuasion
14. Division of llhetorie .

CILAPT.Im

40
4.2

ix

Section 37. Dramatic Poetry
38. Didactic and Descriptive Poetry
39. Satirical Poetry

ur.

124
128

131

CHAPTER V.

T nE ltELA TI ONS OF ltJI ETOllIC TO iT~ snrnn cs.
OF DIS COU RSE IN PnosE.

Section 15. Rhetoric among the Ads
16.

Obj ecti~-e

and Subjective

17. Of th e Pleasures of 'l'aste
18. Im n.g inn.tion
19. Taste .
20. Co rrectness :wd Delicacy of Tas te
21. Gen ius
22. Of lthetorical 'l'astc .
2'3. Of the So urces of the Pleasures of Taste
24. Of Dcr1uty
25 . Of Grand eur or Sublimity in Disco urse
26 . Novclt.y
27. Wit and Humour

28. Sr1tire and Irony
29. RiLlicule

47
52
55

5'7
60

67
70
74
'75

Section 4.0. Of Orntory
41. Modern Division s of Oratory
42. Academic Oratory
43. D ebating Societies

103

CHAPTER IV.

144
149

154

4fl. Sacred Oratory

CHAPTER VI.

!) 3

96
101

143

44. The Oration
45. Political Oratory

75
82

135
137
138

OF THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF w·nnTEN DISCOURSE.

Section 47.
48.
49.
50.
51.

159

Of Letters
Histo ry
Biography
Essays
Prose Fiction

163
168
172

..

173

OF THE DIFFERE NT KINDS OF D1s cou nsE .

Section 30. Aristotle's Division of Oratory .
31.
32.
33.
34·.
35.
ll6.

Log ical Division of the Kind s of Disco urse
Poetry
Different Kinds of Poetry
E p ic Poetry
Lyri c Poetry
Pastoral Poetry

109
112
113
117
118
121
122

CHAPTER VII.
INVENTION.

Preliminary Remarks
Section 52. 'fhe Invention of the Subject
53. •rbe Object of Discourse

180
183

18!)

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TABI,E OF CONTENTS.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

Xl
PAGE

CHAPTER VIII.

Section 79. Of Appeals to the Passions
80. Of the Feelings

OF CONVICTION.

240
245

T'AG&:

Section 54. The Rhetorical Use of Arguments
55. Of the Different ICinds of Arguments
56. Rhetorical Division of Argument
57. Of a priori Arguments
58. Second Division of Rhetorical Arguments

101
l!H

202
203

60. Testimony, as an Argument
61. Fac:t and Opinion
62. WHnernes •

204
205

205

63. Of the Modes of obtaining Testimon-t.

208

64. Cross-examination

209

65. Concurrent Testimony
66. Doctrine of Chances

211
211

Progressive Argument
Example
Imluction .
Analogy
Ex1)erience

213

72. Real and Invented Examples
73. The Topics of Arguments

AnnANGEl!ENT.

l!J!)

59. Sign .

67.
68.
69.
70.
71.

CHAPTER XI.

][)(j

Section 81. The Parts of a Discourse
1. Exordium
2. Narration
3. Discussion
4. Peroration
82. The Three Unities

217
219

220

221

250

251
252
256

CHAPTER XII.
OF STYLE.

215

210

248
249

Section 83. Preliminary Inquiries
.
84. Of Language in General
85. Of Spoken Language
86. Of Written Language
87. Of the English Language
88. Of the Diversities of Style

261
262
263
266
270

272

CHAPTER IX.
Section 74. Of the lliodcs in which Arguments arc used in Discourse
75. Of the Burden of Proof
76. Of Refutation
77. Proving t9o much

CHAPTER XIII.

223
224

231
234

QUALITIES OF STYLE.

280

Section 89. Perspicuity

1'lie First Quality.
CHAPTER X.
PERSUASION.

Preliminary Remarks
Section 78. Of Exhortation

237
239

90. Of Purity, as one of the Elements of Perspicuity

288

91. Of Propriety, as an Element of Perspicuity
92. Of Precision, as an Element of Perspicuity

290
292

93. Of Synonyms
94. Of the Structure of Sentences

293

302

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TABLE OF CONTENTS.

'l'he Second Quality.
Section 95. Energy
96 . Of Rhetorical Tropes .
!l7. Comparison
98. Metapho r
99. Synecdoche
100. l\Ietonymy
101. Hyperbole
102. llypocatastasis
103. P erson ification
104. Apostrophe
105. '!:he Allegory
106. Antithesis
107. Onomatopooia
108. Climax
lO!l. Elegance .
1'he Third Qu a lity.
110. Euphony and H armony

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rAOR

307
313
318
322
326
328
33 0
332
333
334
337
340
342
342
348
350

THE APPLICATIONS OF STYLE AND THE

Preliminary R emarks
.
Section 111. The Rhetoric of Conversation
112. Conclusion

CHAPTER I.
..,

RHETORIC.

(1.) DefiniM"oa of the Term, and Historical Scope
of the Science. ·
RHETORIC is the ar~ of constructing and applying

CHAPTER XIV.

OF

RH Err 0 RIC.

Fom1s

OF COMPOSITION.

354
358

3Gl

discourse.
By discourse is meant the invention and arrangement of thought, and its expression in language.
Under this comprehensive term, discourse, are included historical and biographical writings, essays,
letters, orations, sermons, and all other kinds of
written or spoken utterances of thought.
Let us look, for a moment, at the historical steps
by which we reach such a definition of Rhetoric.
The term RHETORIC (Greek p11-topix11, rhetorike), is
derived from the verb pEw (rheo),which primarily means
to flow, and, in its second intention, to speak. Thus
2

(13)

14

lUIETOHIC.

the original idea which the Greeks conveyed when
they used the word p71-rc.up (rhetor)-which is derived
from pEc.u-as an orator or spealcer, was very much wl1at
we express when we call a public speaker a fluent
man-borrowing this same phraseology from the Latin
verb fluo, to flow-i. e., 11 man 'vhoM word~ flow forth
copiously, clearly, and pleasantly to the ear.
It must be observed, that in the origin of tho
rhetorical art, this fluency which is expressed in the
word Rhetoric, was of much greater comprehension
and importance than at the present day. But this
will appear as we proceed.
Under the ancient forms of government in Greece,
Rhetoric was cultivated with great assiduity, because
in the early Hellenic commonwealths, which were
unlike the oriental despotisms, those persons attained
the highest stations who could sway the multitude by
t~ieir w~rds, moving them to warlike action by impass10ned eloquence, or soothing their irritated feelings
by gentle and pathetic appeals. In that period, to be
Jlitent, was the way to become famous; and hence
p71-rc.up was a professional title of honourable distinction,
and Rhetoric, or the art of fluent speech, was one of
the most honourable studies and professions.

(2.) Tlie Early Uses of Rlietoric.
The art of Rhetoric, it rnn.y be justly asscrtcJ, is

MEANING OF . THE TERM.

15

much older than Greece, since it belongs to speech
and must have been practised, to some extent, if not
professed, wherever language exists. Nor is this
assertion without proof in the history of people much
niore remote from us than the Greeks. If we turn
to the Old T.e&tament Scriptures we shall find con- .
stant records of the rhetorical use and importance
of language : in the pleading of Abraham for the delivery of Sodom from threatened vengeance ; in the
touching dialogue between Joseph and his. brethren;
in the setting apart of Aaron as the mouth-piece of
Moses, in the great scheme of Hebrew deliverance
.from Egyptian bondage, because he could . " speak
well;" in the triumphal ode of Deborah and Barak;
and in the sublime address and prayer of Solomon at
the dedication of the Holy Temple.
, Indeed the history of all nations, from the earliest
periods, shows us that the power of speech, modulat_ed
by vocal utterance, adorned by fancy, flowing like a
·river of thought, to instruct, gratify, or destroy, has
been a great moving power in the world, and baa
demanded a theoretic attention proportional to the
culture and light of the people among whom it was
used. But without entering into an analysis of the
heads and applications of Rhetoric, among such
nations, it is evident that ·the form and shape in
which we find Rhetoric at the present day had their
birth in early Greece, and have been preserved in

16

ltllE'l'OlUC.

GRECIAN ORATORY.

feature as well as in name through the mouhli11g
process of Homan oratory, and all the schools of art
and literature since the <lecline of Roman power.
If· Grecian Rhetoric had its day of banishment when
the scholastic philosophy was in the ascendant, it
revived in renewed youth when the Greek classics
were restored in the fifteenth century.

(3.) Rheto1·ic in Ancient Greece.
If, now, we would point to the first great manifestation of Grecian Rhetoric, its showing forth to the
world, if not its birth,-its birth was too obscure to
be clearly discerned ;-it is to be found in the time
of Alexander the Great; when the revival, of mind
and letters, the throwing open of the entire East, the
developments of History, of Logic, and of Natural
Philosophy, gave a new impulse to thought, and formed
a period, in the fourth century before Christ, typical
in many ways of the modern revival in the fifteenth
century of our era: a period in no degree less glorious and important to the philosophic student of history, but marking only that great cycle of progress of
which the latter was a greater epicycle, and destined
to be the beginning of a system
"Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb ; "

which must be accomplished in the future.

'.l'his

17

was the age of Demosthenes the orator, and Aristotle
the rhetorician.
As illustrative of the interest felt at this time in
oratory-the first great form of Rhetoric-it is recorded that when Demosthenes was to speak, whether before the judges of the Areopagus, or on some
question of popular interest, men journeyed from
distant parts of Greece, and flocked to Athens, for
no other purpose ·than to hear him ; most of them
purely interested in the oratory, and not m the
business.
If we carefully study the characteristics of the
Greek mind, we shall find that this was due in great
part to the intrinsic love of liberty which had pervaded Greece from the time o( the early migrations
of Eolians, Ionians, and Dorians in that mysterious
period a thousand years before Christ. This love of
liberty and independence had disp1ayed itself in the
colonizing of Thrace, l\'Iacodon, Africa, and Italy;
had abolished monarchy in Attica in the days of
Solon, and had established, on ·principles altogether
democratic, wise institutions to cement the states and
p'rotoct the iridividual ·pc.op le . . ' vV e ~hall 'fltid upon
inquiry that there were four institutions eminently
calculated to produce these results, and they were all
immediately concerned in the origin and progress of
the rhetorical art:2*

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RIIETOIUC.

(4.) Grecian Institillions wlticlt aided tlie progress
of Rhetoric.
I. The Council of Amphictyons (oi 'A,uqnx't'vo11fs-),
composed of one hundred members, held their spring
meetings at Delphi, under the shadow of Parnassus,
and their autumnal sessions at 'l'hermopyJre. 'l111eir
object was to make and to explain the laws which
bound the new Grecian commonwealths together.
They were not concerned about foreign states, .for in
that early day all foreigners were enemies. In the
absence of records adequate to their business, and
where many conflicting interests were concerned;
public speaking-the form which Hhetoric first
assumed - was of great importance. 'The affairs
of this council were entirely conducted by the
speeches of the deJegates, and although a superstitious mythoJogy laid great stress upon omens and
auguries, and various orders of priests, still oratory
had the principal weight in the decision of momentous
questions.
II. Next in importance for the culture of Rhetoric,
was the establishment, as a perpetual institution, of
the Olympic games, estabJished by Iphitus, beginning
and ending with a sacrifice to the Olympian Jove.
Here, at Olympia, as well as in the localities of the
Isthmian and Pythian games, established for similar

GRECIAN · INSTITUTIONS.

19

purposes, Grecian freemen of good character were
i(nvit_ed to contend: the country around was adorned
with groves and beautiful walks fitted with seats and
benches, used from an early period by sophists and
philosophers, poets arid rhetoricians.
'•: r Besides , the athletic exercises, so important to
ipculcate · a ·proper physical training among a free
people, there ·were poetic and rhetorical prizes much
sought after, and tending greatJy to the advancement
of Rhetoric. At these games Herodotus recited his
history ; Simonides and Pindar sang their varied
lyHcs ; and .· thus the ·. power of mind ·in its lofty
utterance : of ispeech/ began to · vie : with · the Crestus
ahd ·Palrestra,·· and the swiftness of the chariot race: ·
·~fl III.·· Nor were : the laws · of Solon and ·Lycurgus
less :active in increasing the value and popularity of
the· rhetorical 'art in the rival countries of Athens
and: Sparta, by inviting men of every degree to contend · for eminence in its' cultivation. Aimed mainJy
against the corruptions of civilized society, while
they1somewhat trenched upon its refinements, and
sometimes upon the natural rights of man ; considering a warlike spirit and political liberty as ·the
chief developments of man in civilization, they gave
such·; importance to the individual, that each within
judicial limits might plead his own cause, and thus
use bis own · native Rhetoric for his own interests.
·
" ·To be a citizen was ' to be a legislator-a soldier-

I

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20

CO~FUSED NOTION OF RHETORIC.

RHETORIC.

a judge-one upon whose voice might depend the
fate of the wealthiest tributary state, of the most
eminent public man."
IV. If to these institutions, we add the oracle at
Delphi, as a religious element, discerned in every
nation, in some form or other, speaking in grand and
sententious parables of double import, and affecting
the public speech of Greec·e, by affecting the individual im agination of its citizens, we shall have
another spur to eloquence, that of religion, 'which
more modern times have proved to be so essential an
element in the development of the rhetorical art.
The forms of invocation and appeal ; the highest
efforts of apostrophe ; the best examples of personification, are immediately connected with man's religious
cravings, the innate feeling after the great First
Cause in his word and his works; 'vhile the imagination in its immortal flights demands a ready utterance
and a subtle invention with which to describe it.
Religious poetry, and religious exhortations in sermons, are among the finest developments of Rhetoric.

(5.) Gonfitsed not,ion of Rhetoric in early days.
From what hns been said, and when we consider
the elementary state of written language in Greece,
it would seem that when the name, Rhetoric, was
first assumed, it could only refer to speech or oral

,

Jlthgii.n.g~· ; "nrtd/

as

21

·rar as _it was considered as appro-

priatin'g" langu'age at · all,' this was true. But, as we
shall\ further "see, such ·was the chaotic and mixed
condition of.·: science · at that period, that Rhetoric
wa'S·~made to'·in.ciude an investigation of much of the
subject-matter: of ' di8COU1'8e, and : invaded the domain
of philosophy. · But as far as Rhetoric had to do
with language . it . was · almost synonymous with that
branch of modern Rhetoric, which we call elocution.
13tit'''as ·ietters · were brought progressively and more
commonly iii to use;· that an exact cor.respondence
could ·be~ · maintained· between" the ·eye and the ear,
att<f· tiie~tmitid· l/e"·"teiiclied ·equally by the· medium of'
eHher,"Rlietoril was)made to · ineludc ·writing, in its
B~cotid · intenti·o'n ;rdnd \this 1 second ; intention has be.:
~onie the mor~ 1 important of the ·two, in ·proportion
rufthe written word is more permane"ht and of more
~ultipli~d ;eite~sion than the spoken. ·wen might
tb~ :G~e~ks . flock to hear Demosthenes, for they could
rt~t, as we ~an, re~d his speech at their leisure : and
there iwas · b~t oniDemosthenes in Greece:
• J11 But this is :·self-evident; the sound of an orator's
y~ice : can only be h~ard by a limited number of per.s~~s-,\t one· tim~; and when once heard is lost upon
·tlie~ air~ · : o.r 'e xists :only' in. a fading memory ; the
I

so

..

,w~'itten th~ught remains, is multiplied and scattered,
·to" t~ach distant : countries and coming generations.
'Fan~y cannot invoke an echo of Demosthenes from

•
22

RHETORIC.

the Acropolis, but the lettei·s which Cadmus is fabled
to have brought to Greece, have sent his eloquence,
his thunders, and his triumphs to our own time, and
make him still a mighty master of oratory.
In the progress of the Rhetorical art there was,
very naturally, much obscurity in defining its scope:

(6.) Want of Jitst

class~jication.

':I1his was due, in a great degree, to an entire want
of classification among the sciences. There were
very few then in existence, but even these few were
not clearly defined and classified, and thus each was
made to infringe upon those nearest to it, until
Grammar, Rhetoric, Logic, and Dialectics were, in
parts, at least, mistaken for each other, and their
scope entirely undefined.
'.:I1he ten Categories of Aristotle, which he invented
to constitute a first attempt at this classification
(Logic, p. 228), have been rather a rough model for
the great minds of succeeding philosophers, than a
real mode of classification. But although we are not
to blame Aristotle for the crudities of science in his
time, yet it is significant of its obscure condition
that he has been called the founder of Criticism and
Grammar. He made a complete revision of the
poems of Homer for his distinguished pupil, Alexander the Great; and yet a r eference to his volume

CICERO .AND QUINTILIAN.

23

Joli ·Rhetoric, will show us how crude were his own
{notions of its meaning and its comprehension.
.'rl !Aristotle defined Rhetoric to be " the power of
inventing whatsoever is persuasive in discourse."
. However this may have been regarded in his day as
~xpressive of a just view of the science of Rhetoric,
it is both faulty and. erroneous, when subjected to present criticism. Invention, as we shall see hereafter,
is but one part of Rhetoric, ·and his. definition ex.1,cludes, or only negatively implies the important parts
) 9f. arrangement and style. Indeed he leaves his own
., definition entirely, and has dwelt quite at length
..~pon .t~e subject of style. .A,nd persuasion, which
J1 he ,thus makes the ~~elusive object of discourse,· and
J! 'vhich per~aps. enters largely into judicial and delibe"J ;rative discomse, -is only a part of that · object, conviction being . quite as J.mportant a result at which to
:,. aim in discourse.
~· It ·Jnay be true that the word persuasion was oriJf ginally used in a generic sense to include conviction,
,1; but the clearer definitions given to us by the modern
.:1 0 ~tudy of syllogisms, preclude such a use of it in our
~i; day . .
Ml

i •

(

7.) Cicero and Quintib:an.

if l Cicero, besides being a great master of the rhe-

.-x·torical art, both in his elegant essays and his finished
norations, has left us a valuable treatise IJe Oratore, in

•
24

CICERO AND QUINTILIAN.

ItlIETORIC.

which, carefully reviewing and employing the rules
and arguments which Aristotle has left us, he has
also clearly defined his own notions of an orator, as
to himself, his hearers, the occasion, and the subjectmatter; be bas thus taught us most beautifully both
by precept and example. '.l'he treatise De Oratore,
is a dialogue, as are also his other rhetorical works
.
'
all which are of the greatest importance to the
student of Rhetoric, in its historical bearings; in
the Oratorice Partitiones, we have the best rules for
the proper arrangement of the parts of the discourse
so as to produce the desired effect upon his audience :
and in the dialogue on famous orators, called Brutus,
we have slight sketches of famous Greek and Roman
orators down to his own day. But Cicero had always
in view an audience, oral language, with all the aids
of presence and occasion, and thus we find his very
extended and valuable rhetorical treatises, not of
practical application in this day of paper and print.
Quintilian, who was himself a professor of Rhetoric
in the early days of the Roman empire, has defined
Rhetoric to be " Seientia bene dieendi" (the science
of speaking well), a meaning too broad entirely, since
to speak well implies to speak correctly, thus invading
Grammar; to tltinlc correctly, thus infringing the
science of thought, and in part of metaphysics; and
to reason correctly, thus implicating Logic, or the art
of Reasoning.

25

~ ~ tlt:we .turn from this unsatisfactory definition of

Quintilian himself, to the practice of the schools in
hi_s :time, .we. shall find such a wide extension of this
b~aD;Cp. of ·learning , as . his definition would lead us to
e;tpect.... Rhetoric included among its branches plii~<?.logy-as far as it was known-a term equally vague,
la,w, ~ morals, poz.itics, and other sciences, so . that a
npminal professor of Rhetoric had the greatest num~er; · a.nd the most important of the elementary studies
i~>::his ·: charge. · .·. B.ut in later times, as science after
, ~9ience..bec1:1ime'. knowri and developed, this nomenclat~re;becan:le; ~o.re :real and . stable. , · . i
J During',the .decli:r~e _a nd .fall' of, the Wes tern Empire,
Rh~·toricirested entirely.upon the .basis of Cicero and
Quintilian, ·until · it too .became negl~cted, corrupted,
and despised: , 1The , period of the middle . ages gives
us neither :the names nor works of rhetorical writers;
and when at length the dawn of the new era began
to break in the thirteenth century, poetry and history and oratory seemed to undergo a new birth, and
,t~ pass through a weak but growing infancy. With
t4e revival of letters, and the illumination of mind,
P~ilosophy, Physics, Mathematics, Art, in its various
forms, were more attractive to the new and ardent
s~,ekers for truth than rhetorical forms and systems
of;,'.difficult rules. Aristotle was still buried ; and
only a · few copies of Cicero existed in the monasteries
of Europe.
j

I

...
'l

•

.

2()

•

MODERN ERRORS.

lllIETORIC.

But, at length, like a glorious inundation of the
Nile, Greek letters began to flow westward, and to
combat old Gothic traditions and scholastic superstitions ; the press multiplied that classical learning, and
Rhetoric was once again placed where Cicero and
Quintilian had established it as a science.
It is not designed, in this work, to enter into a
History of Rhetoric : it would neither be proper nor
profitable ; but this slight sketch will show that what
we call Rhetoric at the present day is a science incident to a new order and condition of things; modified
entirely from its Roman form and type, to suit the
age, when writing and printing have usurped the
place of formal oratory: when the writer may have
no advantages of occasion, voice, gesture, magnetic
enthusiasm, but must subject his discourse to the
cool criticism of those who never saw him, and of
those who were farthest from his thoughts when that
discourse was prepared.

(8.) Modern errors.
And now, since the derivation of the word gives
us, in this view of the subject, no clue to its present
technical meaning ; we must look to the best usage
at the present day, as well as to a just classification
of the sciences, for a clear and satisfactory definition,
for without this we should do wrong to begin its

27

~tudy :~ especially as this is one of a number of words
<"Jstanding rfor: _sciences . and arts, which, though not
...;exactly confounded together, overlap each other as
l·jt'; were, and thus leave debateable, double-garrisoned
1grounds on their confines, and give cause of perplexity, confusion, and error. Such are the words
J! Logic, Grammar, and Rhetoric, and in more recent
1

''titne~, ·Philology.
J111J· Let 'us endeavour to explain then the true scope
.-iof these terms, and thus · by elimination determine
.11 the exact meaning of Rhetoric.
· ~H\ i-. Before d~ing . this; however, it may not be amiss to
wJ.cuiark that much error .has crept into text-books of
!1 Rhetoric, by .a o~e-sided view induced by a close and
• 1 partisan study of one author or one modern school.
r· It is for the generally received meaning of the
term
.·.,.

that we are to look.
we have seen that a careful study of ancient
writers would lead to systems obscure and unprofitable, because too comprehensive; so, a lover of Lord
Bacon would find his practice inextricably entangled
with the invalid Logic of the Organon, or the undue
~· preponderance · of · the inductive philosophy: while
~ t 'the ·intense German student seems to be less cono;cerned to find out the special scope of Rhetoric, than
11'- to discern the manner of its approximations to ethics,

'

1

'1 )1 I As

. .''resthetics, and metaphysics.
inj ·That there have been so many systems, and so

-

--28

•

RHETORIC.

29

LOGIC.

much rhetorical faction, has been of great injury to
Rhetoric itself as a science, and has given point to
the satire of an English poet, that"All the IU1et.oricia.n's rules
Teach nothing but to name liis tools."

If then we would keep clear of such errors, let us
proceed to mark clearly the lines which divide Rhetoric from the other arts just mentioned.

~heni . t'ogether .according to just rules, and judging_of
their.:validity or ill validity.
•t>·~Logic.::.....it

has been observed in the treatise on that
.~ ··subject (p.·. 18)~ is the science and ~he ~rt of r~ason­
. ting, and that t_h e process of reasonmg is one, simple,
and universal, it consists in passing from known pre~inisses to a conclusion justly deduced from them. All
,

If we examine a written discourse, framed according to the laws of Rhetoric, we shall find it to consist
of propositions and arguments, couched in correct language, and appropriately connected, arranged, and
adorned for the purposes of conviction and persuasion.
Now what part of this composition belongs ·to
Logic ? Manifestly only tho reasoning, the simple
arguments, as to their validity or invalidity: i. e.,
the process of passing from two lcnown Judgments to
a third wlticlt is dependent upon tltem, and grows out
of their union. Not the invention of these arguments,
which must depend upon a knowledge of the subjectmatter contained in them, and the purpose they are
designed to effect, but the simple formula, of putting

may be made independent
the subject thoughts con'vey.e 4 •. .,Vje might frame .them in symbols of a gene-

; ;n
.:!!.

(9.) Of tlw relations subsisting between Logic,
Grammar, and Rhetoric.

~ the~ iogicaE processes . then
~:the lan·g uage used, or

. ,-:ral application, writing our arguments thus:. rtn:ti.i
11 .~: S't'dt11 H! '«f .1!-t ··· . ; .-.-- '' · ..
1
• •
•
'
·•• AisB,
.~11 ,.-.. .. ':
.,. .e,,.. Y !·ht ·i _ ..•a,.. :.. ·~·~.·~.i
:...,:;: ... .. ... ~~~ ·
. ·

" • _, . ·
· .. . . ,
~ ' .• C is A, , . .
' ~~ ,,,· :.1 ~W'i~
" 11h ·(. Theref~re C is B, ·
;\ , ~
.) ' . ~... ~ ~ ~-~ \ i.'. '·'. 1 •
i;:.. ~ h·:~ h<1·.r.~-~

~ ..,.

'

.

"a~d the log. i~ ,~ould be faultle~s.

.
.rf titt is "to" clothe -·these frameworks of Logic with

.' ilJu~ht(~o~j~

and ivital · 1anguag~,° an~ to arran~e
th~m"! in ;:pr6per' order, that Rhetoric, m one of ~ts

·~fovi~cie1s,t'is:.~~ed;_ . ; i Th~s,

when t~e proper material
ioit~a writte~~ w~rk ' has been provided by a careful

,,.

"i~~estig~tio~, .r and' )~st analysis of somethi~g n~t
.\)~for~ know~-, th.e subject-matter of the prerrnsses. is

f

• lhris. ortned, and the Rhetoric consists in clothmg
""ui~se' .prernisse's upoU: the logical formula already
•:ilriow~ . and deducing the proper conclusions. But

'
~\ '.\vh~t

.

law of language are these prem1~ses ex~cssed, and the arguments arranged? This is the

•••.) *

•
;.io

\

•

0(1,

•... ~

LOGIC AND GRAMMAR.

RHETORIC.

province of Rhetoric. Under the control of Rhetoric
it is the function of Grammar to clothe these in correct language, while Rhetoric takes the whole collection of Logical arguments thus stated in Grammatical
language, and armnges them in the best manner,
having a care that their o{·der of sequence is such as
to make the sense most clear, and the arguments
most forcible, determining the most effective division
into chapters, parts, paragraphs, sentences, · &c. ;
using the words according to their most appropriate
relations ; and applying fitting ornaments, figures of
thought, and figures of speech, to illustrate, elucidate,
and interest-thus establishing the sense of the ·whole.
'l'hus, "it is," says Dr. Campbell, "by the sense that
Rhetoric holds of Logic, and by the expression that
she holds of Grammar.''
Logic has no direct relation to Language, every
logical process being easily expressed by symbols:
but Hhetoric is in1mediately concerned about language; from the repertory of language it finds fitting garments for the thought already formed, nor is
it less concerned about thought, for although it does
not provide the subject-matter of the discourse as to
its original discovery, it must be perfectly cognisant
of that subject-matter before it can thus use what it
needs, arrange what it uses, and clothe it with proper language, so as best and most appropriately to
determine its sense.

Whatever views may be elsewhere taken, then, let
us agree. to consider Rhetoric as the art of.inventing,
arranging, and clothing tlwug lit in appropriate language to produce a certain effect: or, in more concise
language, the art of discourse .
, We have said that Rhetoric is the art of discourse.
It is of importance here to notice that Rhetoric is less
of a science than an art, as its practical applications
are its only claims to our notice. As a science it
rather depends upon the sister sciences of Mind, and
Logic, and Grammar, than has any distinct existence
apart from them, but as an art it subsidizes them all
in making a harmony between language and thought,
l,lnd using both to secure worthy ends.
:1. It is plain that the art ·of 'Rhetoric implies the
existence of Grammar and Logic, and uses the rules
o.f both in the proper construction of discourse.
·, ·It has been already observed that in its original
meaning, and even now in a limited meaning, Rhetoric is applied to oratory, and in this application of
it we have constantly in use another word and its
paronyms-i. e., words derived from the same rootthe meaning of which is not entirely fixed, as eloquent
and. eloquence. These words, and another which i,s
more determined, elocution, introduce into the consideration of modern Rhetoric another element, which
was the principal one in the ancient art, that of the
human voice ;-the effects produced by its varying
·• 1

•

31

nu

ar x -

.

m

-

#th

RHETORIC.

tones, which no mere written discourse can express
to the eye. '..L1o this, special reference will Lo made
hereafter.
Even these words, however, belonging, as they
primarily do, to the voice, arc applictl, in a sccoml
intention, to writing; thus . we speak commonly of an
eloqitent chapte1·, or an eloquent article in a wri ttcn
work, meaning that they produce to the mind something of the thrilling effect which an eloquent speech
would have clone; or that, when read, their flowing
periods and harmonious diction are well suited to the
voice, although not originally intended for it.

(10.) ObJections to Rhetoric as an Art.
Like all other arts-perhaps more than any other
-Rhetoric is liaLle to great abuse, and so its name
will be misused by designing men to cover their evil
deeds and deceptive speech.
'I1o please itching ears, and to cater to diseased
and prurient imaginations, unprincipled men have
often used Rhetoric to array falsehood and impurity
in gay and alluring forms of language, and have
succeeded in deceiving and injuring their auditors or
readers. Hence, Rhetoric, by the aid of which they
achieved their success, has often fallen in to disrepute,
and has received the obloquy which should rest upon
the f als~ propositions, the invalid logic, and the

•
ODJECTIONS TO llHETORIC.

33

lio'neyed . tones ' and evil minds which have used it:
sdch are the efforts made by self-interest to support
~n ' unworthy cause; such the rhetorical forms asStfmed · by material fallacies, and the conclusion · of
~hich must of course be invalid arguments, the pre..: ·
misses of which are false,-which are fully treated
of:in .the companion work on Logic (p. 17 5).
.i-i This, the·n, constitutes the principal objection to
Rhetoric, as an art: it has been used as a gaudy
cioak to cover much moral evil; but the easy illustr'S.tioil ·already used, will show bow illiberal · as -\vell
8.8 false such an .objection is; for it would; by parity
or' reasoning, be · an objection to our fashion of coats
that we cannot tell simply from them the moral character of the wearer; that they are worn alike by
villains and . gentlemen; nay more, a gentleman's
dress is assumed by rogues .to avoid detection. Nor
i1f this error confined to Rhetoric; it applies equally
to. Grammar, since falsehood of the blackest dye may
be stated in correct and pleasant language, and this
language be thus made the vehicle of wide spread
evil. · Thus, by one remove more, the . error lies in
Language. But is it not evident that such objec•
iions are in reality only new assertions of the general
·which pervades humanity ;' of' that ." trail of the
ser'p ent" marking even the "flowrets of Eden,>l
which n.re out inheritance from the wreck of the first
Paradise? It is manifest that they can only be

evil

c

•
34

RIIETOilIC.

OilJECTIONS TO RHETORIC.

35

~eception.

used, as they have always been, by ignorance or by
imposture.

That it is ever so is the fault of the orator
and not the art.

'l,here seems indeed, in the history of every science,
a.nd its corresponding art, a pe1·iod when objections
are numerous and have great force.
Such a statement is illustrated by a consideration
of Logic and the Mathematics, which suffered in the
days of Bacon, and were even much decried at a
later period, when they advanced the practical applications of what had long existed only in theory. This
is due in part to an ignorance which always leads to
absurd results, and in part to a quackery which would
attribute false powers to science, and control men, by
appealing to their hopes, their fears, and their superstition, when a practical judgment alone is required.
The voyage of Gulliver to Laputa was written by
Swift, to ridicule the movements of exact science in
his age, and its applications to discovery, invention,
and the mechanic arts: that was the age of the
South Sea bubble, of Law's Mississippi scheme, and
such like enormous frauds, when figures, of which it
has been said in common phrase that " they never
lie," were used by lying specul::ttors and stockjobbers, and made to seem false. So because of the
misuse of Rhetoric, in certain historic periods, by
which great evils have been produced, Rhetoric has
been satirized, ridiculed, and abused, and oratory
has been considered only a specious form of public

c~ ,To state then the objections which have been

•

brought against the art, in all the forms which have
been urged, it is called' 1st. A pedantic art, leading men out of the plain,
matter of fact transmission of thought in wholesome
·language, filling them with a jargon of the schools,
not used in common life.
<2d. Afrivolous art, for the same reasons that it is
pedantic, ·and additionally because it usurps time
and taste better devoted to other and more useful
studies ; and
. ··3d. An injurious art,"used to hoodwink the judgment by alluring the fancy to make "the worse appear
. the better reason."
r; These are the objections, it .will be observed,
h1ought principally by ignorance: but ·that there . are
so- called rhetoricians, who knowingly use their art
in a manner pedantic and frivolous, and for the purpose of attaining their own selfish ends, is not disputed. Reasoning, however, from such impostors to
a general conclusion against the science, would be
reasoning, ex abusu,-against the use of a good thing,
froi:n its abuse,· -and what art can bear such a test?
f Strength of body given to man for useful ends-to
W.? rk, to protect~ to defend-when used by a maniac
or a brigand are destructive.
I,

•
3G

RHETORIC.
OllJECTIONS TO RHETORIC.

Strength of mind may prove, when misapplied, a
great evil; and great geniuses, like great heroes,
have often been most noted by the ruin they leave
in their train. The arch fiend of Milton's fancy
assumed the form of a spirit of light, and even
among his peers in Pandemonium seemed only
1

Less than archangel ruined, and the excess
Of glo1'y ob~ourid;

..

.&.

I

'

~ ·
<$'

,

and yet, due to his crimes, he saw "in the lowest
depths a lower deep.''
If we look through nature, or examine its atomic
ingredients,, we everywhere find, that to reason from
the abuse of a good thing is the most unjust form
which the "fallacy of objections" can assume.
In closing this preliminary chapter, let us briefly
recapitulate what has been said in our attempt, as
originally stated, to arrive at the true and modern
definition of the term Rlietoria : We have seen that it originally meant fluent speech
or oratory; that in its second intention it was applied
to written matter; that in Greece and Rome, owing to
the chaotic state of scientific classification, it was made
to stand for and to comprehend many sciences, since
happily separated from it, as they all have become
better known and more clearly defined ; that in the
middle ages it was almost entirely uncultivated; and

37

that so perfectly has Rhetoric now assumed its own
i~entity among the sciences, that it may be defined
t~e saienae and art of construating disaourse; that in
its practical uses it is essentially an art; and that its
functions will vary according to the varying character
and purpose of the discourse itself. We have also
mentioned a few of the principal objections to Rhetoric as an art, and demonstrated their invalidity. ,
The next step in our investigation of the subject
~~ll be the rhetorical uses or designs of di~course. ·
''l.

•~·
..I ~

,{i ..

'_)'

ftl .
'J !'.

4

CHAPTER II.
DISCOURSE.

(11.) Of tlie pw7Jose of Rhetorical Discou,rse.
stating the division of the subject which
we shall employ in treating it, it is proper to consider
first the uses of Rhetoric, as the art of discourse,-or
the designs which we purpose to effect by ciiscourse.
Although if we should make ~minute statement of
such designs they would be found very numerous,
moulded as they would be by a thousand circumstances, loc~l and individual, they have been reduced
to four ends or purposes: 1st, to enlighten the understanding ; 2d, to please the imagination ; 3<l, to move
the passions; and 4th, to influence the will.
BEFORE

...

~-

I

FOUR ENDS OF DISCOURSE.

mrnTOlUC.

38

(12.) Fmtr ends of discourse.
1st. Thus, when a speaker undertakes to enlighten
tlie understanding, he addresses himself to the pure
instruction of his hearer, in explaining something
before entirely unknown, or making plain something

39

indistinctly known; in which cases information is
given which demands a ready belief, or some position is proved which before was not granted to exist;
and thus he convinces the hearer of the truth, and
of his former error. In each case the process is that
of clear argument.
2d. ·when he addresses the imagination of his
hearers, he presents beautiful or touching pictures of
such objects as are fitly introduced into the region of
Imagination. Like the painter, he must propose
suitable subjects, and treat them in a lively manner,
1
f·~ising to beauty and even sublimity of thought in his
'l''~ttempts to carry the hearer with him into the higher
'I(regions of Fancy.
· .e(, • · 3d~ And here he trenches upon that third purpose
'l· ~f discourse which is to toueli tlie passionB; for here
(·. too the Fancy enables him to draw such scenes and
·-' characters as awaken love or grief, · aversion or
f.
.
h
cjesire, and play upon the heart-strmgs, t e notes
- . "! and chords of its passions.
:\ · ·· 4th. By a combination of the three ends just pro- ·
posed, does the orator strive to secure the fourththe influencing of tlie will: strong argument alone is
often resisted by obstinacy, but when joined with a
· 4'~: power over the imagination, and the control of the
,..v i•.passions
persuasion is attained and .the will over,
'
,- u come.
: .. This latter attainment is the greatest triumph of
C·

40

CONVICTION AND PERSUASION.

RHETORIC.

w~rd conviction . we mean the process and end of

the orator, and history is not without abundant
records of men who have been gifted thus, not only
to inform, to please, to move tlte heart, but also to
sway the will and bring it an humble captive in the
train of eloquence and genius.

convincing.
· · By persuasion we mean the act of influencing the
will of another, and leading him to acknowledge or
to do something of which his judgment may have
been before convinced, but which his will so steadily
resisted, that he may be said to have been practically
ignorant of the tenet or the deed in question. Thus
we have, as the lamentation of a heathen moralist the
'
apparent paradox-

(13.) Conviction and Penuasion.

.. .
~-.

~i
<->c

Yet these four ends of discourse, we think, may
be, for convenience, stated as ranging under one
general topic, which we call instruction; and this,
according to tlie manner in wlbich it is conveyed, may
be divided into conviction and persuasion.
Instruction may be defined the process of conveying truth to others who are ignorant of it, either
entirely or virtually.
~
By conviction is meant the presenting of truthi. e., the instruction of a person who believes the contrary, or is in doubt between the two. Thus a man is
convinced of his error, or is led to believe that what
he thought right is wrong, or that what he was
doubtful about is truly wrong. '.I'he use of the word
convicted, which would seem to belong directly to the
word conviction, is a legal technicality, showing that
although the criminal may not confess his guilt, and
stands convicted only before the world, that the world
itself is convinced of his guilt. In our use of the

41

'

)

Video, proboque meliora, .
Deteriora sequ~r,

>

and our own literature is full of similar aphorisms .
Butler's coupletHe that complies against his will,
Is of his own opinion still,

contains the same paradox; and the old Scotch
~4age, "a wilful man ma~n have his ain . way,''. is
' ~~ly a little more homely and practical : it .c~nveys
the same truth.
·
\

I

,

I

r l,t~ will

be observed that this divisio~ of in~truction,
~n~o conviction and persuasion, contains at once the
!JCf .of instruction, the manner of it, and the frame
fl1i.~ temper of mind to be met and overcome.
, It is to both these processes then that the func41'-

42

RHETORIC.

tions of Rhetoric are to be applied. And in them
both it may readily be seen, by an inverse process to
the one just employed, we must address ourselves to
the imagination of the hearer or reader, and use just
means of exciting his passions.

(14.) Division of Rhetoric.
In this view of the subject it has become important
to divide Rhetoric into such a number of parts, as
correspond to the framing and arrangement of discourse, to produce these ends; and we now proceed
to a convenient statement of these constituent parts
of Rhetoric as the art of discourse. Following Aristotle in his general arrangement, Ci~ro has enumerated five parts of Rhetoric, which were meant to
include, however, branches of learning now disjoined
from Rhetoric.
1'hey were Invention, IJisposition, Elocution, lYiernory, and Pronunciation.
As we have regarded Rhetoric to be the art of discourse, applied indiscriminately to written or spoken
discourse, Elocution, in its first intention, forms no
necessary part of the subject; although, in connection
with Oratory, we shall devote a chapter to its consideration. But elocution, in its second meaning, as
" the application of proper words and sentences to
invention," is in reality what our modern writers

DIVISION OF RHETORIC.

43

..have ·called

style; and undei.· this head it will be
1.treated. The early writers spoke with their lips;
r.the modern speak through the pen and press.
'w,1- ·Memory being simply the firm perception by the
mind of the things and words, applied to Invention,
has · come now to ta.ke its place in the domain of
intellectual philosophy-a science very indeterminate
in Cicero's day; and memory is consequently elimii nated from his division of Rhetoric ; and pronunaiaPtion, which then meant more than at present, including
indeed the management of voice and gesture in speakJing, lies in part within the domain of grammar, and
Pin part in that of oratory. It would include what
-we now call delivery.
~ O ' Thus, from Cicero's own division, which was the
<result of a study of the Greek writers and of great
f experience, and which exhibits also the loose state
of scientific classification at that day, we develope
the true division of the subject into.

INVENTION,
..

· " ARRANGEMENT,

. :..i

.STYLE.

" '·'· And here it may be well to warn the student that
11these words are used with a technical and exact
.meaning, different from that which they bear in
r ·o rdinary dis.c ourse, and yet not en ti rely disconnected
·· from that. Let us explain this technicality.
: · · The word invention, derived from in and venire, to

'}

.J

44

DIVISION OF RIIETORIC.

RlIETORIC.

come upon, signifies the act or process of finding, or
of achieving a certain result by the original combination of known elements. Such, then, is much of the
character of rhetorical invention in the application
to ordinary discourse; but combined with imagination, as in the higher flights of oratory, or the soarings of poetry, it claims something more. It consists
then not only in finding what before existed, as in
relation to tithe and space, but it creates new realms
in which to work, and peoples them with orders and
hierarchies likewise born at the dictum of the poet's
~bought. In this view in1ijntion means creation, and
it corresponds with our idea of the entirely original
in poetic genius.
Arrangemfnt, called by the great Roman orator
~ispositioh, is the orderly setting forth of the things
mvented. It includes the method by which the
thoughts of the writer are placed before the reader to
instruct, and the successive steps of that instruction.
Let a subject be suggested to us for a discourse
and from the moment we begin to think about it '
.
'
a commmgled stream of facts, fancies, and combinations rush in upon the mind, in its effort to present
the subject clearly.
. vVh~t is more common than to find writers of good
mvent10n, so careless, or so naturally disorderly in
. arrangement as to be obscure, and disjointed
'
t he1r
in their discourse ? Like troops in a rabble, thefr

-~~oughts

45

have no union, and no massive force :
Arrangement is the strategy and tactics which bring
~hem into clockwork order, movement, and effective~ess; Strictly speaking, Arrangement is . rather a
B(lcond part of the process of Invention, than a distinct division of Rhetoric.
.. Style, which Cicero has called Elocution, is the
language in which the author expresses his meaning :
~he fitness of the speech to the thought, as invented
and arranged in the mind. And this analysis now
given, is in reality but a return to that of Aristotle,
)"?ich Cicero, with the ambition to be regarded as
t~e founder of a new system, tried to improve upon,
and which was stated to be Invention, Elocution
(~tyle ), and Disposition (Arrangement).
, . Perhaps one of the happiest illustrations of the
excellence of this analysis of Aristotle, is that used
by Mr. John Quincy Adams, to describe how exactly
it follows the process of divine wisdom in the creation of light, as given in the exact words of Scripture:1st. The Invention of the Creator is thus given:
'-~In the beginning God created the heaven and the
earth ; and the earth was without form and void."
, _2d. The Elocution or speech : "And God said,
Let there be light."
3d. The Disposition: " And God divided the light
. I

\

,

4G

RHETORIC AMONG THE ARTS.

RIIETOHIC.
,)'

from the darkness; and God called the light day, and
the darkness he called night."
Thus we have the highest warrant for this statement of the constituent branches of the rhetorical
art, which, after some other necessary preliminary
remarks, we shall endeavour clearly to explain.
Before doing this it will be necessary to consider
what place among the arts is occupied by Rhetoric.

)

47

'·

.

CHAPTER III.
• '4·

THE RELATIONS OF RHETORIC TO JESTHETICS.

(15.) Rhetoric among the Arts.

~

: THE Arts have been divided among civilized nations
into two general classes : the fine Arts, and the common or useful Arts. This is evidently a division, based
upon the general purpose to which Arts are applied;
the fine Arts being designed to improve and refine
the imagination, and thus to please the taste; while
the useful Arts have for their object to benefit mankind practically.
~· The term Fine Arts has been also varied by being
called Elegant or Liberal Arts, and among the
French, lcs beau.x Arts, or the beautiful Arts; while
the useful Arts have also been called the m echanical
or practical Arts. Among the fine Arts are to be
cla.ssed Painting, Sculpture, and its art-development,
J?oetry.
1
But if, according to the division just stated, we
endeavour to classify Rhetoric as an Art, what shall
be its place?· It certainly is a useful Art in that it

.

"

·-'

::::a

4R

0'
I

'\

0

' +

.

~·

RHETORIC.

constructs and sets forth discourse, the medium of
communication between men, the very foundation of
law and government; but it is no less certainly an
elegant Art, developing and subsidizing beauty not
only as decorative or ornamental, but as it is directed
in its fitness of the means to the end. With this
view the French have placed it in the general division
which they call belles lettres.
Since, then, it seems that Rhetoric is to be placed
in both classes, it will be evident that this division of
Arts will often be a distinctii without a difference :
Architecture, as an Art, is to be placed in this same
category; its first aim is indeed utility, but in all its
parts it has much to do with that beauty and harmony
which at once class it among the elegant Arts.
The truth is, that, as practical science progresses,
there will be a progressive union of the useful and
the beautiful, ::::o that most Arts will partake of both,
and the long-established division into fine and useful
Arts be at length given up, as no longer just. Look
:it a fine ship, with the graceful lines of her hul1,
her tapering spars, her tall masts, and slender ropes
scarcely defined against the sky; or with canvas
gracefully rounded with the breeze, as she leaps to
the careering seas: is she not beautiful in every
part, and in the general adaptation of the whole ~o
the design of the builder ? and yet every part IS
designed and the whole is arranged with a reference,

IlllETORIC AMONG THE ARTS.
~.

4<J

.

'o.)mo.st if not entirely alone, to utility, to spe.ed, to

\~nnage~

-

to strength, to buoyancy, to making the
~~ost 'of a gentle breeze, and yet to withstanding the
~ ~ost'violent hurricane. And is not this very fitness,
\his nice adaptation for utility an element of beauty?
~ Or, for another example, consider another mechanism,
r~~imarily designed for practical purposes alone-the
engine. · How nice its arrangement and
rlocomotive
..
~?_rder ; how _beautiful the passage of thought, in the
·adaptation from the wood and water to the fire and
: ~team; from the steam to its calculated force when
tibompressed;
from- the valve-box to the cylinder, to
n 4·
.
c.the. moving piston; from the piston-rod to the .crank ;
'f~om the crank to the wheel; from the driving-wheel
to the great mass of produce, and stores, and passen1
gers, \vhich it urges along; from them to the great
[:m arts connected by the passage, and so to the com' ~erce and civilization of the world. ·
~~ : Thus, as the world progresses to a higher civiliza-tion, "Science and Art, with magic powers, have trans;'formed chaos into order, dark and dingy substances
:·into the . brilliant diamond, deformity into beauty;
~-~. nd have thus created a new element in a.rt, making
(..
·what were before purely mechamcal arts to rank
~'a~ong the fine arts, and demanding that the fine arts
c~hall also display utility as a distinguishing element.
~- Again; although beauty and grace are everywhere
'interwoven with the useful, it is, by no ineans, only

.

5

D

50

C'
(

,..,.
~·

~..

RHETORIC AMONG THE ARTS.

RHRTORIC.

on this account that they arc to he sought and cnltivated: it is because they have also an inherent
'Utility entirely their own: because in contemplating
them we enjoy a pleasure, a satisfaction of desire
which God meant for us ; and because, to the imagination, this contemplation and this enjoyment are
as necessary as food, dwellings, and raiment are for
our bodies. Thus, linked with our ordinary conception of the uspful, a~ thus containing the useful, in
an extraord\mi,;y manner, beauty pervades all Arts,
and breathes upon all forms of existence.
But we need no further illustration to show us that
the useful Arts are rapidly becoming elegant or fine
Arts, and that some other distinction or classification
will be necessary.
Suppose, then, that instead of endeavouring to
classify these complex and varying Arts, we strive
to find out the elements of beauty in them all, by
the establishment of a new science, whose end shall
be to analyze and explain the beautiful. This is the
end and aim of the Science of JEsthetics.
..IEstlietics, derived from the Greek, a.t110t;<H~ (perception), means the science of tlte beautifiil, or, in an
extended sense, the philosophy of taste.
A!Jsthetics as a science has struggled into permanence against the most determined opposition ; it
was for sometime domiciled in Germany, where
indeed, in its modern form, it came into existence.

51

It has · principally been employed upon Painting and
Sculpture, as the most pro:minent and exclusive of
the fine Arts ·; but its scope ·is · commensurate with
the existence of ~eauty, and every art in which
beauty is found is subjected to its analysis. In this
connection it will been seen that Rhetoric, as one of
the Fine Arts, has long needed its control ; for Rhetoric · has not only the beauties of ·expression, which
may be styled the resthetics of language, to bring to
, its standards, but also the beauties of imagination
and of rhetorical invention, which may be justly
: styled the msthetics of thought.
·1.
Since this science then seeks for beauty everywhere, a.nd, as we have seen; destroys in part at
least the old division of Arts, finding in almost all,
· more or less, developed the elements of beauty, the
· many Arts in which beauty in its varying forms predominates, have been called ..!Esthetic Arts, and thus
we may properly say of an art that it is more or less

an

..!Estlietic Art.
Among these Rhetoric, it is observed, holds a.
prominent place, as will be further evident, . when we
, see that it subsidizes the power of the imagination,
the play of the softer passions, the charms of language,
and in oratory, the graces of speech, of gesture, of
.: .form, the expression of the eye, the curve of the lip,
: and the smile, which plays like rippling light upon
the countenance ; and that all ·these beauties are

• •2•n1s•. .~.........-. _._..................
·'
rm m illlll
na ....
· .......... -.... -

52

OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE.

TIIIETOIUC.

means beautifully adapted to a useful encl. Rhetoric
is essentially then an .AiJsthetic Art.
It has been said that this science of .lEsthetics was
very much needed; it was not more needed by any
Art than by Rhetoric; because, Lefore its creation
to fill a vacant niche-wit and li.1t11wu1·, as rhetorical
instruments; beauty a.nd sublimity of objects, and of
thought, and of their description in writing; indeed,
all that came, either ilit thought or diction, within
the domain of taste, were absolutely without a place
among the classified sciences, and were baldly stated
as existing without being referred to any scientific
classification.
They are now all included uncler Rhetorical Esthetics ; and rules are laid down for judging of the beautiful in discourse.

(16.) Ob:jective and Sub:jective.
It may not be amiss, while on this general topic of
the philosophy of the beautiful, to explain the meaning of two other words much used but frequently
misunderstood, especially in their connection with
Painting and Sculpture. They are the words obJective and subJective, and they are particularly applicable to the consideration of Rhetoric. These are
words of recent introduction in our language, but
they were much needed before they came.

53

, · ~I.1o explain these, let us take any grammatical sentence having a subJect, a finite verb, and an obJect. Now
in Philosophy, as in Grammar, the subJect is supposed
in every case to be thinker, the person acquainted
with, or the person acting; while the obJect is the
.t hought, the person or thing known, or the pe1·son or
thing acted upon.
But the subject and the object are only such rela. tively to each other, for it is evident that every subject may become an object: for, if I conceive of the
given subject as related to the given object, then
both are obJects to me, for I am the thinker and they
the things thought of.
Let this give us the clue then to the meaning of
these terms : objective means that which really and
essentially belongs to the object itself; subjective
means the manner in which the subject, or individual,
conceives of that object. And thus objectivity means
· th.e existence of the world around me quite independent of my conceptions of them, while snbjectivity
means the expression of my views of the world
around me.
The objective painter or writer displays things, or
portrays persons, as they exist, free from any preju. dice or peculiarity of his own ; such as would spring
.from his school, or his nationality, or his own personal
.. views.
While the subjective writer gives us the peculiar
5*

RHETORIC.

.
(

c

impressions made upon liimself, and thus frequently
the objects are distorted by being viewed through him
as a medium. The one is nature seen with the clear
unblemished eye; the other the same nature seen
"through a glass darkly."

To state extreme cases, the annalist or statistician
is ob.fective; the man of genius usually more sub.fective.
~I.10 obtain pure truth in a pleasing form, we look
for a combination of the f}b.fective and sub.fective.
Shakspeare has been instanced as remarkable for
the happy counterbalance of the two : his characters,
-men and women ;-his portraitures of virtue and
vice, "holding the mirror up to nature," arc splendidly ob.fective; and show to all ages "our fathers in
their habits as they lived." .
And yet, on the other hand, what writer has ever
more perfectly stamped everything he wrote with the
signet of his own genius; making everything Shaksperean and subjective?
So too has Milton, "of imagination all compact,"
peopled the world of that imagination with the finest
objective creations, and yet every line of the Paradise
Lost, or of Comus is so truly Milton's that we could
recognise it by a comparison with his life and his
other works.
A purely objective view, while it informs or instructs, gives us no pleasing or grateful thought of
the instructor; a purely subjective view shows us tlic

OF THE PLEASURES OF TASTE.

55

instructor, but we learn liim rather than the truths
he professes to teach.
But to. return to the province of Taste in rhetorical
discourse.

(17.) Of tlie pleasitres of 1aste.
It has been stated, at the beginning of this volume,
that Rhetoric, as the Art of Discourse, consists in the
invention, arrangement, and style, or expression, of
discourse.
vVe have shown that in the invention and arrangement of the discourse the development of thought is
the proper province of Rhetoric; we now come to
consider the fact that in the thought and language
of discourse there is an inherent relation to Taste;
thus, not only may we clearly invent ancl distinctly
express our thought, but the thought itself and the
dress it wears, may, besides simply informing our
hearer, awaken irl him an emotion of plea.sure, incident to the beauty, grandeur, or sublimity which they
contain.
To illustrate :-It may be our desire to inform a
person, before ignorant of the fact, that God made
everything, and that he only said that they should be
made, and that they were so made. If, now, we look
beyond the mere instruction to be conveyed, we find
the thought expanding in the effort of utterance; we
observe that our mind dwells beforehand upon the

56

(

lUIETOl\IC.

dignity of approach to such a thought, that an elevated and serious tone becomes natural to our expression, and so we rise at once to the language of the
Psalmist : " By the word of the Lord were the Heavens made, and all the host of them by the breath of
his mouth; He gathereth the waters of the sea together as an heap ; he layeth up the depth in storehouses. Let all the earth fear the Lord; let all the
inhabitants of the world stand in awe of him. For
he spake, and it 'was done; he commanded, and it
stood fast."
. Here, besides the mere i1itruction conveyed, there
IS great bea uty in the invention and arrangement;
that is, the development of the thought. First, the
fact of creation; then the ennobling consideration of
the Great Omnipotent Being, who could thus create;
his mighty unseen hands in the ocean depths-the
storehouses of his munificence; the vastness of his
visible universe; the transition of the mind from
primitive chaos to order, from darkness to light; the
potent reasoning that such a God should be had in
awe and holy fear by all the inhabitants of the world;
and the grandeur of the final and splendid epitome :
"For he spak e, and it was done; he commandecl,
and it stood fast."
Is not an emotion of great pleasure, merging into
awe, excited by this developinent of thought and fitness of expression ? If we had no other volume than

IMAGINATION.

57

the Bible, from which to illustrate a chapter on Rhetorical lEsthetics, 'we should have a storehouse full of
treasures of thought and diction.
With these preliminary remarks, we proceed to the
·consideration of the scope, subjects, and instruments
of ·lEsthetics in the consideration of Rhetoric.
It must be observed, that the pleasures derived
from such thoughts and such language are pleasures
produced by the Imagination and discerned by
Taste; and, lest we may be misunderstood, before
going farther, let us explain the meaning of these
terms, Imagination and 'l.'aste.

(18.) Imagination.
Perhaps there is no term which has been more
difficult to explain, or of which more conflicting explanations have been given, than the word imagination.
It is derived from \he Latin word imago, which means
an image, and therefore, in its etymological sense, it
is the conjuring or bringing before the mind certain
images; but, in its secondary sense, it may be called
the powe1· of endowing substances with qualities which
they do not possess; and making these qualities inhere in a lively and natural manner.
It is mainly in its conflict with another word,
Fancy, which has frequently been · used as synonymous with it, i. e., having nearly the same meaning,

. . . . . . .-.. . . . . .--==--..

-----.,,_--~------,,_--,,....---~--""""--..-- ----~!!!Pi-"-------

. . . .._.______. .

~_.._

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50

RIIE'l'ORIC.

IMAGINA'rION.

that it has been found necessary to define Imagination more clearly than before, and yet it is difficult
to find an agreement among those writers who have
attempted to state this distinction.
Fancy, from the Greek (<J>av-taO'i17), may be called
the power of combining ideas already known, in such
a manner as to produce new and pleasant scenes to
our mental sight. Imagination is a creative power,
often originating ideas; or, if not making the ideas
themselves, creating such a connection between the
most simple and insignificant things as to render
them new objects of human sy9pathy.
Thus we have in Milton's Comus : -

·
·
of · the mind
is the coml'ition
mental law; Fancy
unbent, uncontrolled, and often lawless.
• The Imllgination soars when the intellectual powers
are in full, strong, and healthful play. It is ]fancy
which -· directs our reveries, or is present in our

58

Wrapped in a pleasing fit of melancholy,
To mcdiltLte my rural inmstrclsy,
Till Fancy has her fill.

But it is
--Imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown,

dreams .
.: Imagination is oftenest linked with pure feeling ;
she observes and appreciates the closest and most
p·~thetic resemblances or analogies; detects and loves
heauty· in its subtlest forms. Fancy only sports
unfeeling with the resemblance of things, airy antl
fantastical.
Imagination is the close attendant, the inseparable
friend of the tragic muse, while Fancy alone disports
herself in the atmosphere of comedy.
In a ·word, Imagination, creative, elevated, serious,
dignified, belongs to poetic genius, and opens to it a
world of high and holy thought, and of perennial
pleasures, into which Fancy never enters.
The glorious faculty assigned
'l'o elevate the more than reasoning mind,
And colour life's dark cloud wit.h orient rays;
Imagination is that sacred power,
Imagination lofty and rcfinecl.

and presents them to the poet, until his pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

Imagination is a quality of the mind by which
these images arc evoked according to an invariable

Among the plays of Shakspeare, so often marked
exalted Imagination, the "Midsummer N~g~t's
:D{.eam" is full of delicate as well as capricious

bj

•.

• ·>

GO

lUIETOitlC.

Fancy; while in Homer, the Imagination is far more
abundant, making the Iliad original, lively, glowing,
and natural.
Pope's " Rape of the Lock" has been regarded as
the best illustration, in one poem, of the predominance of Fancy, fill ed as it is with the Uosicrucian
spirits, sylphs, gnomes, and nymphs.
The " Divina Commedia" of Dante, and the
" Paradise Lost" of Milton, are full of fine imagination : while the "Faerie Queen" of Spenser,
and Shakspeare's "~rempest,'' are fine examples of
the beautiful combination of the Imag~ation and the
Fancy.
For a long time, and indeed until quite recently,
these two words were regarded as exactly synonymous, and were so used constantly.
·w hile this was a great error, it will still be evident that, in their relation to Rhetoric, Imagination
and Fancy arc both important; and that, while
genius alone may be able to create with the imagination, it is the province of taste to judge of the
fancy and the imagination as displayed in writing,
and of the beauties and pleasures arising from both.

(19.) Taste.
We come now to a consideration of the meaning
and the province of Taste.

TASTE.

Gl

··· Taste has been defined the faculty by which we
discern and enjoy the beauties of Nature and Art.
Whether Taste be a single faculty in itself, or
\vhether it be a combination of other faculties~ is a
q·uestion which mainly concerns Intellectual Philosophy; but that there is such a power of discrimi. .
nating must be admitted by all. If this be admitted,
k is"unimportant whethe~ it be a simple or a ~omple.x:
faculty.
,/ This power is the universal gift of God to man,
although in different degrees; thus, the coarse tastes
of 'the· savage differ from the refined tastes of civilized
life; and yet all will agree that sugar is sweet, vinegar
sour, light and gay colours pleasant to the ' eye. '
..t It is by ta8te that we create our standards of judg.:
ment in art, as well as in the world around us.
•:·r lf we seek for such 'a standard of rhetorical judgmen.t we shall find it to be drawn from nature, and
dependent, as ~re our standards in the other Arts;
upon· that natural faculty which we have called Taste.
" This term Taste, it is evident, is used in a second~
ary meaning when applied to the pleasures of Imagination. It has been by some persons derived from
the verb tango, to touch, and may thus be regarded
as the effect produced by coming in contact with anything; but to us its primary meaning is the power of
·judging, by the palate, of the quality and nature of
things which we eat and drink.
G

u2

HIIETORIC.

The process of its second application is an easy
. one ; thus, a sweet food produces a pleasurable sensation upon the palate, analogous to that of a sweet
sound upon the ear, or such as one whom we call a
sweet person produces upon our hearts; we thus speak
of the taste of the food, a taste for music, or a person
so much to our taste; by an extension of this process,
Taste is made to apply to works of literature and art
in all their branches, including the pleasures of the
Imagination, an<l, irt especia.J, to Hhetoric, in its task
of inventing, arranging, and expressing discourse.
The capability of being pleas<M. or pained by the
works of Nature and Art around us, has been justly
called sensitiveness ; it springs directly from the
union of the mind and the conscience; and thus is
brought to bear upon all forms in the physical and
moral world. In the term mind we include both the
reason and the imagination. In our effort to be clear
and concise we have avoided technical phrases borrowed from mental philosophy, and have limited ourselves to the plainest language.
After our sensitiveness is thus attracted towards
or repelled from the various objects and ideas which
surround us, it is the province of Taste to tell us
why we are thus influenced, and to discern the beauties and deformities of Nature and of Art, and to
arrange them according to some scale or law of gradation.
~I.1he question has often been asked-" Is

u3

TASTE.

there any standard of Taste ?-and so many have
denied tho existence of such a standard, that an
adage was framed by the Latins, and has been
retained to our own times as the summary settlement of this question-" De gustibus non est disputandum :" There is no disputing about Tastes.
" It is worth a remark, in illustration of the case
before us, that, in general, adages and aphorisms are
ohly one half true, and the other half grossly and
fatally false. 'rake for example the false part of the
common motto, "A penny saved is a penny got." It
.i$ ;easily shown, by instances from everyday life, that
,this has been productive of many other evils as great
. as spend thriftiness; perhaps its injury to . mankind
has been greater than its good. It has steeled the
:heart against the famishjng orphan or the indigent
widow, and buttoned the pocket over the "penny
saved,'' as though it were a generous and praiseworthy act.
In the words of Thomson : -

i:·
:

· ·~I

\

Here you a muck-worm of the town might see,
At. his dull desk, amid his ledgers stalled,
Eat up with carking care and penury ;
Most like to carcase parched on gallow-tree.
"A penny saved is a penny got:"
Firm to this scoundrel maxim keepeth he,
Ne of its rigour will he bate a jot,
'.l'ill it has quenched his fire and banished his pot.
CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.

' !

1·

M'

rl'?

ii'' a •

. w- ---------

TASTE • .

RHETORIC.

If, then, we would apply a similar criticism to the
adage about '.l'aste, we shall find that it has been
entirely wrested from its true meaning, which wasthat inherent tastes are so hard to overcome, and to
convince of error, that we should not dispute about
thorn ; and that it has been construed thus : Since
we are all gifted with taste by God, each man's taste
must be as good as his neighbo~s; and therefore
there can be no standard.
But there is a standard; and although, in matters
of general doubt some latitude must be allowed there
is a large domain in which all well-ordered and' cultivated minds agree, and this agreement constitutes, in
that province at least, the standard of Taste. Such,
we shall also see, is the philosophy of the standard of
Rhetorical Taste. This standard may be defined
the concurrence of the right judgment of many well
ordered and duly cultivated minds, when directed
within the province and upon the objects of ':raste,
and the establishment of this standard has been a
special object of that science of '.L1aste which has
been called JEsthetics.
It seems hardly necessary to dwell upon this point;
but let any one compare, in thought, the extremes
of barbarism and refinement; a hut of reeds with a
gorgeous palace; an Indian canoe with the floating
palaces which cross the Atlantic; an Indian village
with one of our great cities-Philadelphia or N cw

65

York; the barbarous and inade·quate dialect or the
Hottentot with the oopiousness of the English or the
graces of the Spanish language : and a union, a concurrence of Taste, not only among the refined, but
among the barbarous, as far as they can comprehend
these things, will establish the necessity and existence
of a standard of Taste.
, But this, it will be observed, except in such a comparison of extremes as those just mentioned, will be a
varying standard, and will depend · upon the habits
~nd customs, domestic, social, and national, of the
individuals concerned : what is pleasant to a man of
culture will be indifferent to one lower in the intellectual scale, because he will not appreciate it; while
that which satisfies and charms the boor will be distasteful, by contrast, to. those surrounded by all the
appliances of culture and taste.
: · Besides, there· may be different tastes and yet each
good of its kind. Each man, in the ardour with which
he pursues his special train of thought ·and study,
finds in it matter more to his taste than in any oth~r
pursuit; and so the Jurist evokes beauties and pleasures from the law, finding, in the words of Hooker,
f·' that her seat is the bosom of God, her voice the
~armony of the world."
, . The mathematician may so revel in his problems,
and be so intent to weave his analysis," that; like
(j

*

/,

- - - ... --

GG

RHETORIC.

Archimedes, he may . be deaf to the roar of battle
around his house.
'l'he poet may soar on the pinions of the Imagination
Above the smoke nml stir of this dim spot.,
Which men call earth ;

•

and each may find beauties, the source of pleasures
which by the others are unseen and unappreciated.
~l1his is just; its philosophy is apparent.
But, if the lawyer should say to the mathematician,
Your labors are dull and disagreeable, and I pity
your dry routine and plodding life; or, if the mathematician demand sneeringly of the poet, What docs
the " Paradise Lost'' prove ? then violence is done
to true taste by those who are simply unable, from
ignorance, to recognise real beauties.
And here it should be next observed that this
faculty of Taste, like all other faculties, physical
and mental, with which man has been endowed, is
imp1·oved and developed by cultivation, and impaired,
even to entire loss, by disuse.
This needs no proof: look at the development of
the senses by constant practice; the dealer in tea
becomes extremely well acquainted with the various
kinds by taste and smell; the person accustometl to
judge of wines will detect the peculiar flavours even
when two or more are mixed together.

CORRECTNESS AND DELICACY OF TASTE.

67

··In the same manner, the man of cultivated intellectual taste will become more and more able to dis- .
criminate the beauties of an author, to discern his
faults, and to distinguish him, by his peculiar manner
of thought and diction, from all others.

(20.) Correctness and delicacy of Taste.
. ; With this view of the development of Taste, Rhetoricians have stated the principal characteristics of
l:aste to be two-correctness and delicacy; qualities
i,~ . part indeed due to nature, and possessed in a
greater degree by some than by others ; but also
9apable 0f being attained by study and culture. It is
~ot meant that these qualities are given in an equal
4,egree to the same individual, or that every individual
is susceptible of the same' amount of culture; b~t this
~ill appear when we define their meaning.
: By Correctness of Taste is meant that property by
which we are enabled to bring sound Judgment to
bear in our discernment of the objects and beauties
of Taste. It is a correct taste which presents to our.
view only the real beauties, and which is not deceived
by what is false and meretricious in ornament.
~ By a correct taste we are enabled also, after discerning many real beauties in Nature or Art, to
,()lassify these for the reference of others, to find out
the sources whence they spring, and to keep our-

r.

-- I~

G8

RIIETOlUC.

selves from too little or too much pra,ise of any such
objects; admiring just in the degree we shoulll, and
no more.
1'hus, a concurrence of correct Tastes establishes
for us a standard of correctness in Taste, to which
we and others~ay apply for our after needs.
By delicacy or refinement of Taste is implied the
finer powers with which some minds are endued, by
which they are permitted to discern beauties an<l
delicacies which are not seen by commoner intellects.
A refined Taste observes, in a combination of thoughts,
the beaut; of each individually, as well as that of the
combined thought; just as a nice ear bears along
each part in a complex harmony, as well as the harmony itself, where one confused or blended souml is
present ~o the unpractised ear. So, a delicate taste
will detect in a dish of many ingredients the flavour
and the presence of each.
It has been said that these qualities are not always
given in the same measure; a man may have a correct taste, may Justly estimate every object around
him, as far as he estimates it at all, and yet be blind
to many beauties which would be discerned by a
refined taste.
On the other hand a refined taste, seeking the
rare beauties, may neglect the just outlines and true
forms of things, and, catered to by individual prejudice, may distort these, and thus may be able to lay

CORRECTNESS AND DELICACY OF TASTE.

69

little claim to correctness. This is, however, an uncommon case. It generally happens, that the cultivation of the faculty of Taste, which is necessary to
make one correct, is the cause of the revelation of
new beauties ; and these new beauties constantly
unfolding to the eye tend to cultivate refinement.
Indeed no taste can be truly refined without being
correct; nor correct, in its most extended sense
.
'
without being 'refined.
·
There have been many technical uses of the word
taste, which it will be unnecessary for us to consider·
.
.
'
they are only different applications of the general
functions of Taste already laid down. Thus, Teclinical Taste is that used by an artist· or a writer, in
m~king his picture or his discourse, according to the
standards already laid down by the great masters ;
just as a mechanic applies rules, the principles of
which he is ignorant of; while Philosophical Taste
is that based upon the true principles of beauty and
adaptation, that is, upon the principles of philosophy
as thus applied, and constitutes the true and final
standard of judgment ; these principles, based · on
Nature, are now the same they were in the days of
Homer, and of Aristotle, and this is plainly and well
contain such hiah
expressed
in Pope's verses-which
.
.
5
praise of Homer directly, and such implied admiration of Virgil : -

'

70

-8

When first young 1\-foro, in his boundless mind,
A work to outlast immortal Rome designed,
Perhaps he seemed above the critic's law,
And, but from nature's fount11ins scorned to clrnw;
But when to examine every part he came,
.
N11ture 11ncl Homer were, he found, the same.
Convinced, nmnzccl, he chcck8 the bold <lcsign,
And rules as strict his laboured work confine,
As if the Stagyrite o'crlooked each line.
Le&j·n hence for ancient rules a just es leem ;
'.l'o copy nature is to copy them.

(21.) Geniits.
In this relation the word Genius has often been
associated with Taste; and its meaning has been not
unfrequently misunderstood. It is derived from the
Latin verb gigno, to be born ; signifying a something
which is peculiar to a person, as if born with him.
It differs from the Intellect, which is the universal
gift of understanding, in that Genius is something
superposed upon and implying intellect; we frequently
speak of a man of superior intellect without meaning
that he has genius; we can never speak of a great
genius without implying great intellect.
Genius
differs also from talent, with which it is often confounded ; talent meant originally a Greek coin
( i'a;i..Evi>ov) of more than one hundred pounds, and
came into its present use from our Saviour's parable
of the ten talents; it therefore implies something of
ready and practical utility to the possessor. Genius

71

GENIUS.

RHETORIC.

-

is creative and original, and often erratic and fanciful; Talent imitates and combines what genius or
nature has created., into the useful and practical: a
great poet has genius; a great historian only talent.
The manner in which Genius differs from Taste is
of more concern to us, because here it is employed
in an msthetic sense. Taste is a critical power to
discern the beauties of Nature and Art, and may be
technically attained to some degree at least, if it be
not originally possessed. Genius is the birth-right
power of executing great things in Art and Science.
Genius may, in its works, display a sound taste.
By the cultivation and development of Taste the
Critic is made; by Genius the Poet, the Orator, the
Painter accomplish famous works. To the critic,
whose domain is that of Taste, constant and careful
study is requisite : ~bile it improves and guides the
.genius, it is not essential to the existence of genius.
There can be little doubt which is the higher
power. It is that incommunicable gift which we call
Genius; and yet Pope, in his Essay on Criticism,
· , has said : -

'

j ) ~ ...

r / ·:

'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;

*

*

*

*

*

Some few in that, but numbers err in this,
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss.

t

.

Wt

n=·· enesz

z

72

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a

73

RHETORIC.

GENIUS.

And he roundly asserts that Taste is born with a man,
as well as Genius : -

ing before Achilles and begging for the dead body of
Hector, as he reminds him of his own father, until
Achilles is melted to tears; then, as he finishes the
passage, he exclaims " Oh lovely and immortal privilege of genius I that can stretch its hand out of
the wastes of time, thousands of years back, and
touch our eyelids with tears."
It is Genius which controls and subsidizes the
imagination, using its creative and combining powers
with the noblest results.
But it cannot be denied that, although Taste and
Genius are so distinct, they are often found conjoined
in the same individual. The great poets, who are by
this very fact geniuses, are often our best standards
of true taste; Genius, however, is usually limited to
one or to few Arts, while Taste may range over many,
and be developed in many directions.
And it is equally true, that in some cases true
Genius exists in a constitution most deficient in
Taste.
Thus Dr. Johnson, who claimed to be a poet, and
whose satires were in great favour during his life.time, abused Milton's Lycidas and Comus, was severe
even in his praise of the Paradise Lost, and denounced
Milton's sonnets,-those noble English verses,-as
very bad; while Lord Byron, a rare poetic genius,
found no beauty in Shakspeare, and clung 1vith fond-

In poets as true genius is but rare,
True taste as seldom is the critic's share.
Both must alike from Heaven derive their light,
T.se born to fudge as well as those to wi·itc.

We speak of a taste for poetry, painting, music,
&c., and equally of a genius for them; by the former
is implied a fondness for them, and a cultivated
faculty by which we discern and enjoy their beauties; by the latter we imply the power to write a
great poem replete with creations of the imagination,
to paint a great picture full of original forms, and
conceived in an original spirit, or to compose some
grand sonata.
The sterling English writers most frequently use
these words in their true meaning, and from them
we may derive just illustrations, and endeavour to
explain them to ourselves;
Thus vVordsworth speaks of one
- - B y science led
His genius mounted to the plains of Heaven;

thus at once granting the original power of genius,
and its guidance by science.
And Leigh Hunt quotes the beautiful and pathetic
passage from Homer, which describes old Priam kneel-

>

7

74

RIIETOllIC.

OF BEAUTY.

ness to the artificial poetry of Dryden and Pope,
which exhibits very little poetic genius.

their primary significations ; since Literature, from
the Latin Litterce, by its derivation includes all
thoughts expressed by letters; and Scieriee from
Scio, to know, comprehends all kinds of knowledge.
But in the progress of language, which meets the
wants and expresses the culture of the people, these
words have drifted from their etymologies to compass
more limited branches of discourse; Literature being,
in more general terms, that which is the field of Rhe. torical 'Taste, and Seienee tho domain of tho reasonmg powers.

(22.) Of Rhetorical Taste.
It is ltrne we were beginning to apply what has
already been said on the subject of .l:Esthetics, to tho
subject immediately under our consideration.
It is evident that Rhetorical Taste is the employment of the faculty of Taste in the criticism of discourse; especially in that kind of discourse which
is ordinarily called Literature, as distinguished from
Science.
In a succeeding chapter there will be given, at
length, a list and description of the different kinds
of discourse ; it will, therefore, be sufficient here to
say that in the class which bears the name Literature, are included those branches which come within
the scope of Rhetorical '.l1aste, as, for example, historical writing, narratives, poetry and prose fiction,
and epistolary writing, especially in certain of its
uses. Under the general topic of Science, are now
comprised those branches of study which have for
their purpose to lay down and illustrate the principles of knowledge, and to give strength and culture
to the reason.
It is at once evident from the etymology of these
words that the meanings thus given are by no means

75

(23.) Of tlie Soitrces of tlie Pleasures of Taste.
·It has been said that Rhetorical Taste has to. do
with works of the imagination; h~nce, the pleasures
, arising from the exereise of this taste upon the creations and combinations of the imagination are truly
Pleasures of the Imagination ; and the sources of
these pleasures have been considered as ranging
under three heads: Beauty, Sublimity, and Novelty.

(24.) Of Beauty.
c

The word Beauty has been traced through the
French beaute, to the Latin bellus, thence to benulus,
benus, and bonus, which latter word means good, thus
allying the beautiful with the good.
The element of Beauty may be defined, first, as

76

OF BEAUTY.

RHETORIC.

that ideal quality which gives pleasure to the organs
of sense, the eye, the ear, &c., as colour form sound
. &c. ; but in its extended application
'
motion,
it' refers'
· t eII ec t , tie
I imagmation,
·
· ·
to. that which pleases tl 1e m
lftd the conscience. It will evidently be twofohl, tho
beauty of the thought, :md the beauty of language,
as to its adaptation and harmony.
The beauty of thought is generally a fixed, inherent
element, to which alone is given the name of Beauty.
.
'
as m nature, the azure of the sky, the calm flow of a
river, are called beautiful, and the thought of these
before its expression is beautiful. But there is also
a beauty of language, which, besides its inherent
existence, is attended by two circumstantial forms
of bea.uty, of which the one is ordinarily called grace,
~s to its ornaments; and the other propriety, as to .
its adaptation.
It has been said that beauty addresses itself to the
senses: thus, colour, figure, and motion please the
eye; sounds, which are soft and harmonious, please
the ear ; and these exhibited all around us in nature
constitute her manifold charms, to which every eye
and every heart respond.
~I1ake, by way of illustration, a fine landscape in
which the fields adorned with living green are divi~ed
~nd c~ntrasted with streams sparkling as they flow;
m. wluch are dotted here and there, in little clumps or
fairy groves, trees of various kinds, from the vencra-

77

ble oak with its spreading arms, to the fine straight
sapling rejoicing in its youth; woodland roads, with
figures of men and horses ; the rustic bridge ; the ·
boat idly borne by the current, or reflected in the
mirror-like water as it is moored to the shore;
grazing herds ; birds singing in concert; and all
these bathed in the beautiful light of the morning
sun ;-there is beauty not only in each, that is, in
the separate principles of colour, sound, figure, and
motion, but in the union of them all, which constitutes a complex beauty.
Now to describe this, or any similar scene, with
the pencil of art, is the study and the purpose of the
painter, and we call his work beautiful; he chooses
his choicest colours, and endeavours, without indeed
an attempt at illusion-for he does not mean to
cause us to mistake his picture for nature-to make
us enjoy, in his painting, the remembrance of the
original, and also to admire his skill in its reproduction on canvas; and we, as critics, exercise our
artistic taste in judging of his work.
Analogous to this is the writer's attempt to portray
this same scene in words, and to excit_e in our minds
a pleasing emotion; seizing the beahties which it
presents with an artist's eye, he arranges them into
thoughts; he chooses from his store of language
beautiful, and hence appropriate, words, with which
to describe these natural beauties which he has now
7 ·X-

--- -

_.,

'
78

79

ltHETOH.IC.

OF BEAUTY.

fashioned into beautiful thought. Sometimes, in tho
attempt, he rises, with the poet's imagination, to the
language of apostrophe:-

Taste ; finding in the first, the general beauty . of
the scene ; the superior beauty of the apostrophe to
God:" Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love ;"

--Forth in the pleasing spring,
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love.
Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm;
Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles ;
And every sense, and every heart is joy.

Or in simple but most graphic prose he describes
such a scene, so that it is once more painted upon our
mind's retina:"A fow amber clouds floated in the sky, without a
breath of air to move them, the horizon was of a fine
golden tint, changing gradually into a pure apple
green, and from that into the deep blue of the mid
heaven. A slanting ray lingered on the woody crests
of the precipices that overhung some parts of the
river, giving greater depth to the dark blue and
purple of their rocky sides. A sloop vrns loitering
in the distance, dropping slowly down with the tide,
her sail hanging uselessly against the mast, and as
the reflection of the sky gleamed along the still
water, it seemed as if the vessel was suspended in
the air."
To these descriptions, of which the one is highly
poetical and the other simply and minutely descriptive, we apply equally the canons of Rhetorical

and the power with which the imagination has vivified
everything ;-the flush of the fields; the echoing
mountains ; the smiling for est. Add to these the
harmony and fl.ow of the language, and we declare
the whole beautiful.
So, in the latter, besides the placid beauty of the
landscape, and the charming change of colour in the
sky, the words and images chosen with which to describe them are beautiful, and the emotion awakened
in us is one of unmixed pleasure.
From what has been said it will be evident that
the emotion awakened by Beauty, in Nature and
Art-and in the term Art, discourse is included-is
not of a violent or vehement kind; it is placid and
gentle ; the imagination in its creation of the beautiful, and the discourse in its description, does not
agitate the soul strongly, or appeal powerfully to the
pass10ns.
The beautiful in writing, intended to express and
describe the beautiful in nature, or mind, or morals,
is smooth, flowing, harmonious, and graceful.
The more violent appeals belong to the grand or

sublime.

80

RIIETOlUC.

The idea of beauty is usually associated with gladness, and surely most of the emotions of beauty are
excited in a mind serene and cheerful, or buoyant
and lively, and yet there is a union of beauty with
sadness, which gives an emotion of pleasure. When
beauty is joined with melancholy we lrn.ve pathos,
and this produces an emotion which heightens the
pleasure of beauty by contrast. Originally this
word, pathos, as its derivation from the Greek, nacrx<.>,
to suffer, indicates, meant passion, and implied vehemence; it has now grown to mean tliat which awakens
tende1· emotions, and chiefly those of a humane and
hearty sympathy.
Among the writers in whose poems beauty abounds,
Goldsmith is a striking example; his muse, dwelling
mainly in the sphere of beauty, presents such charming and quiet pictures; now of

--OF DEAUTY.

81

--"Still the wonder grew
That one small heo,.d could C!1rry all he knew."

In many of his descriptions rural life is presented
in its fairest verdure and its quiet charms.
'.l1he descriptions in the ''Traveller" are likewise
full of beauties ; many of them of a higher order, as
he passes from descriptions of nature to moral reflec- '
tions upon European life and manners.
Cowper is another illustration of the beautiful in
writing ; and of more modern poets, Scott, in his
animated descriptions in prose as well as verse;
Coleridge, and Wordsworth, are striking examples;
the one in his charming delineations of .purity and
love·" AlHl hopes, and fears tlrnt kindle hopes,
An undistinguislrnble throng,
And gent.le wishes long subduatl,
Subdued i.tnd cherished long;"

" Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain;"

and again of the placid countenances of those who
were its familiar tenants long ago. '.I11rns we have
the country pastor,
" 'fo n.11 the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year."

The village schoolmaster: whose learning was so
great that

and the other in his elaborate descriptions _of rural
life and persons in England : "Of him who walked in glory and in joy,
Following his plough along the mountain side."

.Keats, and his later type, Tennyson, should also
be mentioned as being full of beauties, as well of
language as of rare thought. Of that beauty which
is found in the pathetic, a very notable exampl~ is
F

'83

RHETORIC.

GRANDEUR OR SUDLIMITY IN DISCOURSE.

found in Sterne's story of Lefevre, m ':l1ristr:un
Shan<ly; we have the beauty of heart in my Uncle
Toby and Corporal Trim, so concerned as they were
about the sick Lieutenant; the beauty of invention
and arrangement in the details of the story, and a
charm of language which covers the whole with a veil
of soft and dewy light, and makes it a beautiful pie~
ture in the great art gallery of English literature.
Nor are our American writers wanting in a genius
to create and a taste to subsidize the beautiful :
'
vVashington Irving has ·given us those placid and yet
beaming pictures of life on the Hudson, the banks
of which he has made classic ground; Bryant has his
ears ever open and his eyes ever responding to the
charms of nature, and his pen ever ready to portray
them in immortal colours. It is out of our province,
in this place, to multiply illustrations of this fact,
but it may be st~ted in general, that, as American
scenery abounds in what is beautiful, the beauties of
its description abound in the works of American

tions, making grandeur less powerful than sublimity:
yet, although this difference in degree may be kept in
mind, a consideration of the synonymous character
of the two words will cause us, generally,. to range
the emotions excited by both under the general head
of the sublime in writing.
Grandeur, from the Latin grandis, and the French
grand, implies greatness, originally in size; but, by
its secondary adaptation, it differs from greatness, in
that it includes the idea of excel1ence and worth.
In its adaptation to thought it implies expansion of
sentiment, and also the character of the expression
of sentiment.

82

.

authors.

(25.) Of Grandeiir or S1.tblimity in Dl'.scoitrsc.
The next source of the pleasures of imagination,
in discourse, has been called Grandeur or Sublimity.
Some persons have regarded these as different in
the degree in which they awaken pleasurable cmo-

Sublime, from the Latin sublimis, means origina11y
greatness in height, and, when applied to discourse,
means elevation as well of thought as of diction.
'110 Art and Nature alike the term Grand may be
applied; Sublime is only properly used when speaking of Nature.
A natural scene may be both grand and sublime;
grand in the impression of its extension and vastness which is made upon our imagination; sublime
in the effect which it produces upon our imagination,
in elevating it beyond the sphere and consideration
of lesser objects or concerns.
The pyramids of Egypt are grand ; th£ ocean in
· its sport is grand; but the ocean in fury passes out
of the sphere of grandeur ·and becomes sublime: ·

-

--85

RHETORIC.

GRANDEUR AND SUBLIMITY IN DISCOURSE.

In discourse we speak of certain authors as grand
or sublime, according to the predominance of sublimity in their works. Homer, who is full of beauty,
often merges simple beauty into grandeur of thought
and of style in his descriptions of prowess on ~he
battle-field, as well as in his pictures of the glowing
beauties of the old lEgcan ; arnl the classic shores
of Asia Minor. So~ also, Milton passes from the
placid beauties of the terrestrial paradise to the
grandeur of creation, and to the sublimities of the
Court of Heaven ; the terrible splendours of Pandemonium; and the splendid fabric, which "rose like
an exhalation," "to the Dorian mood of :flutes and
soft recorders" ; but in all his works is found a great
predominance of sublimity, so much, in.deed, as to
constitute his great work one of the sublimest poems

his poem of Childe Harold abounding in lines which
give us, with lightning vividness, glimpses of the true
sublime in writing. They are so well known that
they will recur readily to most readers. The apostrophe to the ocean; rising, in a beautiful climax,
from earth to heaven ; representing the immense expanse, in itself so grand, as

84

ever written.
The Scriptures, ever abound with sublimity in
thought, and in language : the two so aptly united
in the harmonics of prophetic language, which announce, through the poet's tongue, the mission and
lories of the Messiah. But the sublime in Scripture
g
.
1 d'ff .
is ever present with us, from the umversa i us10n
of the Bible in our country; and illustrations suggest
themselves to the daily delight of its readers.
Among. the modern authors, whose works a:e
replete with sublime thoughts, fitly expressed m
glowing words, Byron is the chief of English poets;

"The glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses it.self in tempests;"

is one of the sublimest descriptions on record. His
lamentations over the fallen glories of Greece and
Rome, and the fleeting honours of the more modern
Mediterranean republics, are also in many instances
truly sublime.
Coleridge often passes, with easy ascent, from the
beautiful to the sublime, with the finest effect; and
like many other writers, who reach the region of the
sublime, he often combines sublimity with terror.
Let us take, for example, a little picture from the
Ancient J\foriner : "The thick black cloud was cleft, and still,
The moon was at its side;
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and "IV ide."

The whole forms a terrific picture, especially when
8

-

SG

ll IIETOlUC.

read with the attendant circumstances in the poem.
There is a grandeur of thought, too, in the picture
of that despairing ocean, in the same poem : "Slill as a slave before his lord,
The ocean has no blast,
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the moon is cast.."

A modern critic has declared the last two lines to
be among the finest in the language.
Sublimity in discourse, it is evident, is more vehement and violent, in the emotions it awakens, than
Beauty; and still within a certain limit it is a source
of pleasure to taste : yet it is a pleasure not without its cost; the mind is startled; the whole man
snatched as it were from the earth to a higher air
in which are wonders and beauties not unmixed with
awe.
It may even go so far as to unite with fear, and
thus to become a source of terror, when all pleasure
is lost. Horrors of colossal size throng around us,
and the imagination seizes the reason, and bears it
away captive into the doleful regions of despair:
such is often the poet's aim; and the contrast, when
he returns to more placid scenes and milder words,
renders them all the more pleasing. What, for instanc~, is there of pleasure in the wild revolutionary
vision of Coleridge, in which:-

QltANDEUlt AND SUBLIMITY IN DISCOURSE.

87

"~The

giant Frenzy,
Uprooting empires with his whirlwind arm,
l\fockcth high Heaven.---The old Hag, unconquerable, huge,
Creation's eyeless drudge, black Ruin, sits,
Nursing the impatient earthquake."

Many striking examples of the sublime in writing
may be found in the poems of Mrs. Browning, and
they constitute exceptions to a general rule which
would make beauty, rather than sublimity, the characteristic of a woman's mind.
It will be evident that so exalted an emotion as
that of sublimity cannot be long maintained; unlike
the steady, placid sunlight of beauty, it comes in
electric flashes of dazzling splendour, . but short
duration.
If, now, we consider the kind of language in which
sublime thoughts are naturally couched, we shall find
it to be generally of the simplest kind; a transparent
garb disclosing rather than veiling the sublime conceptions. In the example already used of the creation of light at the word of God, this simplicity is
manifest:-" God said, Let there be light, and there
was light." What can be grander than the thought,
and yet what can be simpler than the language?
So, in the Psalms of David, this beautiful simplicity
of language is allied to the highest thoughts. Sometimes it is a denunciation of vengeance against the
wicked: " Let God arise, and let his enemies be

88

ltllETOlUU.

scattered." Or, again, it is the praise of universal
Nature to its Creator: " 1'he Heavens declare the
glory of God, and the firmament sheweth his handywork ; Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto
night sheweth know ledge."
'.L1here is no straining after effect in lauguago; the
words are as simple as the thought is sublime.
'l'he Book of Job has often been adduced as a very
copious illustration of sublimity of thought; it might
be readily brought forward as also illustrating tho
. simplicity of language.
Efforts have been made to analyze the sublime,
and to discover its sources ; but, beyond the idea,
conveyed by its derivation, we can arrive at no satisfactory result. Vastne8s, confusion, liigli virtue, contempt of death, fear, have all been mentioned as clements of the sublime; and, perhaps, obscurity which
hides the lofty conceptions from us, and yet implies
their existence, is a most distinguishing characteristic
of the sublime, very much employed in the Bible, and
by the best authors.
'l'hus the Psalmist says:" Glorious things are spoken of thee, 0 city of
God!" leaving to our imagination and faith to meditate upon the glories of which the mere mention is
thus made.
It is this which constitutes so much of the sublime
in tho prophecies; their glowing and yet simple !au-

OltANDEUll AND SUBLIMITY IN DISCOURSE.

81)

guage, containing truths of sublime importance, the
whole of which we arc not gifted to know, and yet
of which we form some faint conception :·" Thy people shall be ·willing in the day of thy
power ; in the beauties of holiness from the womb of
the morning; thou hast the dew of thy youth."
" Ile shall drink of the brook in the way ; therefore shall He lift up the head."
Of the power of obscurity to heighten the sublimity of that which is purely imaginative, we · have
the most frequent examples in Milton; Satan is
drawn:· "His stature reached the sky,
And on his crest sat Horror plumed."

The mind soars to reach that lofty height; and the
imagination expands in its attempt to portray to
itself that strange ideal, "Horror plumed.';
1'he entire description of the encounter of Satan
with Sin and Death, at Hell-gate, owes much of its
sublimity to that awe-inspiring darkness through
which it is indistinctly discerned: it seems the highest
effort of the ideal imagination.
Hero rises a
"· -Grisly 'l'error, nnd in shape,
So Rpcaking and so threatening, grew tenfold
l\Iore dreadful and deform."

8*

'·
DO

DI ·,

RHETOilIC.

GRANDEUR AND SUDLll\IITY IN DISCOURSE.

A most artistic composite of obscure phrases, producing a sublime and awful picture.
And, again:-

paniment to the scene which the words describe;
and again he opens one of his poems with a similar
effect:-

"So frown the mighty combatants, that hell
Grew darker at their frown; so matched they stood;

From what has been said it will be apparent that
the sources of the sublime in writing lie more in the
thought than the language; for the proper language
.. in which sublimity of thought is couched, is, as has
been already remarked, simple and common, giving
only clear and lucid expression to the thought.
Sometimes, however, the language is a real aid to
the thought. In the skilful use of language there
are adaptations of sound to sense, which are sometimes adopted to heighten the effect. This subject
will be referred to more at length hereafter; but it
may be well to state, in this place, the existence of
such an adaptation of the powers of language to
heighten the effect of the thought. In a less degree
we have observed that harmonious language is a fitting vehicle for beauty of thought; thus Byron has
described the morning dawn in the East, in words of
harmonious sound : "Night wanes-the vapours round the mountains curled
l\Iclt into morn, and Light awakes the world."

rn which the sound uttered softly, is a fitting accom-

"It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingnJc's 11igh note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whispered word."

So, too, with the sublime in language.
· In many single lines or sentences of his other
poems, Byron has accompanied a grand and stirring
thought with words of trumpet sound, which would
convey something of their meaning to one even who
was ignorant of the language.
Thus in his description of the opening of the battle
of Waterloo : "But, hark !-that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier, than before!
Arm! arm! it is-it is the cannon's opening roar."

In this the heavy sound is a phrase which carries
something of its booming meaning with it; the climax
of thought is fully conveyed in the words "nearer,
clearer, deadlier than before," especially if the voice
aid the illusion by rising with the words: and the
words arm and roar,-especially the latter as the
concluding word in the final line of the stanza,-are
particularly effective.

02

93

ltlIETORlC.

NOVELTY.

But there is one · stanza of Childe Harold which
has been considered the finest, in respect of the
adaptation of sound to sense, in that poem, full as it
is of such rare combinations ; it is worth quoting
entire, and reading aloud, that we may note the nice
and yet apparently intuitive adjustment of the two:-

But with these passing remarks upon language,
as adapted to sublimity of thought, we come to the
third source of the pleasures of taste which we have
mentioned.

"H:trk ! l1eard ye not those hoofs of dreadful note?
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath ?
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote,
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath
'l'yrants, nncl tyrant's slave ?-the fires of death,
The bale-fires flash on high ;-from rock to rock
Each volley tells that t.11011sands cease to breathe,
Death rides upon the sulpbury siroc,
Red battle stamps 11is foot and nations feel the shock."

The last line has been declared, by a competent
critic, to have no superior in English poetry.
There is great force of language in the effect of
the following lines; which are quoted to portray the
close of Napoleon's career:" Like a statue thunder-struck,
Which, though quivering, seems to look
Right agn.inst the thunder-place."

The phrases tkunder-struclc and tliunde1·1Jlace give
in themselves some idea of the sudden confusion which
the thought would express, and the word quivering is
most expressive, even in sound, of the effect of the
stroke.

(26.) Novelty.
By Novelty in discourse is meant the expression,
not only of that which is new, which the mind may
be on the alert to hear and know ; but also of that
which is sudden and unexpected-i. e., truly novel.
A fact or theory may be stated as new, as opposed to
what is old; or novel, as opposed to what is known;
or two well known facts may be brought into a new
and unexpected connection ; thus creating for us the
effect properly called Novelty. · The pleasure derived
from novelty is due, then, not only to the pleasing
thoughts and appropriate language, but also to the
vivid impression and exhilarating nervous effect arising
from the unexpected nature of the object or thought
presented; the mind is thrown into a pleasant state
of excitement; and thus a thought which has no
· beauty or sublimity, a specious argument to which
the mind is not ready to yield its assent, will still,
when first presented, please by their novelty.
The best illustration of this peculiarity of the
human mind is to be found in the search which
everybody is making for happiness, by the examination of "something new." There are · in every a.ge

94

RIIETOilIC.

NOVELTY.

those pointed out by the Psalmist of ol<l, as crying
"who will show us any good?" that is, seeking for
good in novelty; and the same truth was asserted by
St. Luke of the Athenians, when he said, they were
ever on the alert " to tell or to hear some new
thing."
So it has been in all ages of the world, and so it
will ever be; and although it is found that novelty
does not give rise to permanent happiness, yet, in its
momentary and recurring excitements, it has been
justly classed as one of the sources of the pleasures
of '.raste.
It is often intimately connected with beauty and
sublimity, for while in poetry it is to the un expected
creations of the imagination-that is, to novelty- .
that something of the pleasure of taste is due; we
have already seen that the beauty or sublimity of
these conceptions is the chief source of our pleasure.
The emotion excited by Novelty, although for the
moment quite vivid, is very transient, and when it
passes away it never can be recalled by the same
object, then no longer new; it is unlike beauty, in
that beauty is inherent, and remains always a part
of the object itself. In the opening line of En<lymion this permanence of beauty is justly stated in
charming words, which embody a thought often felt
by all, and yet never so well expressed:-

-"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever."

95

It is due to Novelty in part, although not entirely,
that the quality which is called JVit owes its power
to excite pleasure; for it is characteristic of wit that
it brings objects or thoughts together into strange
and unwonted union; and a pleasant emotion is
excited by the unexpected contrast.
Some writers have considered Melody and llarrnony
as sources of the pleasures of Taste ; but these so
manifestly come under the general head of Beauty
in their more placid flow, and of Sublimity in their
more vehement styles, that they cannot justly be
mentioned as separate sources of pleasure.
So, also, Imitation has been styled a source of
pleasure ; but it seems manifest, that besides the
reproduction of the beauties copied, the pleasure
which arises from Imitation grows out of the unusual
exhibition of power in copying thought, or form, or
colour, or style, and this pleasure it would seem is,
in part at least, of the nature of novelty; an astonishment at the exertion of unexpected and unusual skill.
So imitation seems only to subsidize the sources of
pleasure already mentioned. It seems; then, that all
the sources of the pleasures of Taste may be properly
ranged, as we have ranged them, under the three
heads-Beauty, Sublimity, and Novelty.
Among certain characteristic forms of discourse,

9G

IllIETOil.IC.

which are of the nature of the pleasures of ~rastc,
we must devote some space to a consideration of
Wit, Humour, and Ridicule, which are rhetorical
weapons of great power and skill. Like Imitation,
they partake in different degrees of the sources
already mentioned, but in their peculiar forms they
deserve a more critical examination. They constitute
the last of those general topics, which we shall adduce
under the head of Rhetorical lEsthetics.

(27.) Wit and Hnmow'.
It will be observed that Beauty, Sublimity, and
Novelty, of which we have just treated, arc mainly
used in the preparation of public discourse-that is,
what is to be delivered in oratorical form to an audience, or to be printed and read by numbers; but in
the ordinary forms of discourse used in conversation,
although they arc not to be entirely lost sight of,
yet they do not constitute the principal sources of
pleasure.
In the commoner forms of discourse, known as conversational, wit and humour constitute the principal
charms, and give a sprightliness and vivacity which
can spring from no other source. It is not meant by
this that wit and humour are excluded entirely from
more public forms, but that it is mainly in colloquial
discourse that they arc important. Hence, the public

WIT AND HUMOUR.

97

form of written discourse, in which they constitute
the chief charm ; and the staple pleasure of tho
drama, designed to be acted colloquially upon the
stage.
Like many such synonymous words, 1Vit and
Humour are often confounded in their meaning, and
when not confounded are sometimes improperly used;
but as rhetorical instruments they should be carefully
distinguished from each other.
Wit is derived originally from the Saxon verb
witan, altered in the modern German into wissen,
which means to know.
Its first application then was to the intellect, by
which we know anything, and to our general expression of what we know. In its next use it was applied
to the combination of lcnown ideas, in so new and
sprightly and yet natural a manner, as to occasion
surprise and pleasure to the hearer.
In this general sense it is rhetorically employed;
and thus it gives to discourse, especially familiar discourse, a charm which belongs peculiarly to itself.
True wit is evidently a gift of natp.re. That it should
be original, and at the same time natural, is well inculcated by Pope, in his "Essay on Criticism:"- .
"'frue wit is nature to advantage dressed;
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed;
Something whose truth convinced at sight we fi'n d, ·
'!'hat gives us back the image of our mind."

0

G

!)8

99

RIIETOHIC.

WIT AND HUMOUR.

True wit is not of necessity allied with the comic
or jocose, but is often in its most brilliant displays of
a dignified and serious character.
Nor is it necessary that anything of a marvellous
or striking nature should be inherent in the subJect;
it is mainly in the combinations of thought, and in the
imagery and ornaments of language that wit displays
itself. Fully to illustrate it, we should be obliged to
consider the whole range of figures of speech, which
wit so abundantly uses; but wit may be here defined
under the general head of tho ::csthotics of discourse,
without full illustration: the subject of figurative
language is kep.t back to be treated under the general
head of Style, where it appropriately belongs.
It has been cfetermined by the Rhetoricians that
the purpose of '1Vit is effected in one of three
ways:. 1st. By placing an object or subject, which claims
to be serious and digni,fied, in a ludicrous or mean
position.
2d. By rendering things which are truly frivolous
and mean, serious and dignified.
3d. By combining common things in so new and
interesting a manner as to excite both surprise and
pleasure.
In the fir$t case it is evident that the design is to
satirize that which pretends to a dignit.y to which it
has no just claim. This is done by what is called

burlesque, and by bemeaning comparisons and metaphors these false pretensions are stripped off, and
thus the satirist becomes the dispenser of just punishment. Of this nature is the general idea of Cervantes,
in his " Don Quixote," wher~ he burlesques the insti~
tutions and customs· of chivalry, by bringing them
into ridicule . . Such, also, is Butler's "Hudibras,".in
its burlesque of the Presbyterians and Independents,
in the days of Charles II.
· Under the second head those persons and things
which, like those just mentioned,· advance unjust pretensions, are not directly assailed; ·but meaner persons and objects are elevated irito similar positions
and clothed in similar false raiment, and thus by
comparison the pretenders are rebuked and punished:
In poetry this is known as the mock heroic. Of' the ·
mock heroic, many examples are found in the classics. ·
Such is Homer's "Battle of the Frogs and Mice;"

and in modern literature, Pope's "Rape ofthe Lock;"
is a notable example.
Under the third division by far the greater class of ·
the efforts of wit are found; in this division wit subsidizes all the powers of language, and shines in many •
and brilliant forms in discourse : and upon this gene- ·
ral ground it branches into many and various forms,
from the most dignified sallies in oratory to the common forms of rebus, conundrums, and bon mots of
every kind and degree.

100

RHETORIC.

In considering the present meaning of the word
humour, we must refer to the old and long-exploded
theory, that there were four distinct and yet connected humours or moistures of the human body ; on
the distribution and just admixture of which health
of body and cheerfulness of mind alike depended.
The next step was naturally a division, according to
these supposed causes of our different moods, into
good or bad humours; by a natural advance, good
humour gave rise to spirited sallies of conversational
eloquence; and thus it reached its rhetorical meaning.
Humour may be defined that quality of the mind
which unites ideas 'in a fantastic manner, and tends
to arouse our mirth· by thefr communion. Humour
may flow in a continu ous current, and advance to a
climax of the ludicrous; while in contrast, from the
nature of 1Yit, it is evident that it excites an emotion
of pleasure, which is of short duration. It has been
said that wit must be natural j it may be farther remarked that wit, as an exertion of the intellect, must
be spontaneou.<J also. " Laboured or forced wit is no
wit;" and there should not be even, of that which
appears natural, too much in one discourse. This is
alluded to by Pope, when he says:"--Works may have more wit thn.n does them good,
As bodies peri sh through excess of blood."

'Vit, then, as distinguished from humour, is brilliant

SATIRE AND IRONY.

101

and momentary, like the coruscations of heat lightning; Humour flows in a strong and enduring stream.
'.rhe witty thoughts in a poem or play may be numerous, but they are distinct and independent of each
other ; the humour is in a vein, and forms the very
essence of comedy.
It may further be remarked that wit is frequently
of the nature of satire; it is bright and trenchant like
a Damascus blade. Indeed, as we shall see, satire is
properly denominated one kind of wit, w_hile humour,
although usually presenting objects in a ludicrous
light, is so connected with human sympathy that it is
neither sarcastic nor mocking . . If wit be the sharper
weapon, humour .is the m'ore genial encounter.
It has been usual, until within a recent period, to
consid er wit the higher manifestation of the two;
but a little thought will show us that humour, in its
highest development, is wit combined with human
sympatlzy, and that true hitmour is a far more distinguishing mark of genius than the most brilliant wit.

(28.) Satire and Irony.
Classed under the general topic of 1Vit, and containing but little trace of genuine humour, are Satire
and Irony; and it is lamentably true that very much
of the most brilliant wit is of the specific kind called
Satire.
~*

IlIIETOIUC.

RIDICULE.

This word probably comes to us from the Greek
Satyric drama, in which old Silenus and his Satyrs
appeared, an<l sham ed men, by showing them what
brute instincts would lead even the best of human
beings to become, if the spark of divinity in us were
withdrawn.
If, as some writers have supposed, it has another
derivation, sat and ira, abounding in anger, this is at
least significant of the manner in which the shafts of
wit are often thrown by the satirists. They arc sharp,
unsympathetic, and angry, and are designed to pierce
and wound; and yet this, it must be observed, is in
open warfare ; but they are delicate and refin ed weapons, which few can use with dexterity and success.
Irony, another species of Wit, is derived from the
Greek, Etp«wEta-, tlie act of dissembling on e's meaning
in discourse: this is also a censorious kind of wit,
but instead of its being open, like Satire, its shafts
are shot from a covert. '.I.1his is done by expressing
<lirectly the opposite of what we mean, and often,
by our presentation of this opposite, rendering it so
ridiculous as to cause the mind to revert to the true
object with a mischievous sort of pleasure.
This is a common form of wit in our onlinary discourse, ancl when used merely to enliven it, it is
harmless and pleasant; as a logical 'reapon it is
often of the nature of a fallacy, since it changes the
point in dispute (v. Logic, p. 185) from the true

merit of the case, by casting ridicule and contempt
upon our opponent when fair argument is no longer
available.
A remarkable example of extended Irony is found
in Dean Swift's "Argument for the Abolition of
Christianity," aimed really against its opponents.
And Defoe has left a powerful invective, which is
also ironical, in his pamphlet entitled " The Shortest
Way with the Dissenters;" in which he decides that
any man who is guilty of becoming a dissenting
to death. To make the irony
minister should be
more striking, it must be remembered that Dean
Swift was a beneficed clergyman; and that Defoe
had been subjected to imprisonment and mutilation,
for being a champion and ally of the dissenters.
It will be observed, that while these various forms
of wit and humour are treated of here as belonging
to the subject-matter of discourse, and as ranging
justly under the general head of 'Rhetorica11Esthetics, they owe much of their power to the language
in which they are couched; and to that extent are
also included in the subject of Style, and of the
energy and ornaments of Style. This general subject
will be considered hereafter.

102

103

pnt

(29.) Ridicule.
The element of discourse

call~d

Ridicule, is so

•

t

10-.l

-

---

I tr F

IUIETOBIC.

analogous to 1Vit and Ifumour that it is often mistaken for these; and is most frequently used in conjunction with one or the other. While it is a source
of pleasure to the hearer or reader, who is not the
aim of ridicule, exciting in him the emotion of mind
which finds its vent in laughter, it must be regarded
as it concerns the person ridiculed, especially if he
stand in the light of an opponent in a controversy,
as a rhetorical weapon of the greatest force; and is
often a fallacy producing the end which only a valid
argument should reach.
Thus, when a person finds himself in danger of
being defeated in an argument, he leaves the point in
dispute, and addresses himself to the task of raising
a laugh against his adversary. This is in many cases
an easy matter. As men do not much respect those
at whom they laugh, so they lose respect for the
cause as well as the person, and thus such a course
is often successful in establishing the cause which is
really weak and unjust.
It must be observed, however, that ridicule is in
many cases just. Thus, when it assails false doctrine, and seeks to bring into contempt that which is
really contemptible, it is a fair weapon; and it often
happens that those dogmas which, on account of our
superstition or other cause, are not to be uprooted by
the clearest logic, are quite within the reach of the
shafts of Ridicule.

'

RIDICULE.

'

.

~

-

105

If its lash is severe, it is often the most potent in
reforming, and, although it should never be used
except with justice and moderation, it is a powerful
means of promoting social improvement, and removing insidious errors. In the hands of the English
satirists, from the days of Addison to ·the time of
Dickens and Thackeray, it has been prominent among
the wholesome means of reform.
It has been said that it is most frequently associated with wit and .humour. It is, indeed, characteristic of much of wit, humour, satire, and irony, that
they place the objects of their attack in a ridiculous
light; and their power is thus greatly increased. To
illustrate the common but unjust use of ridicule combined with wit, we have Cowper's lines concerning
Voltaire:"The Scripture was his jest-book, whence he drew
Bon mots to gall the Christian and the Jew."

Butler's " Hudibras" was a satire on the Puritans,
in which Ridicule abounds. And even Lord Bacon
does not disdain its use in his " Errors of Learning,"
quoting the "Echo" of Erasmus. In his objections
to an excessive study of oratory, and its graces of
speech, he speaks thus : " 'fhen did Car of Cambridge, and Ascham, with
their lectures and writings almost deify Cicero and
Demosthenes, and allure all young men that were

_,.._,_. .

.

________________.,,.._ _,__....___
Im'
lOG

-

~-~ - --

··-- --~-::i;::""-- ---·- ·--

--.. -..-...

-

ltIIETORI C.

RIDICUJ,E.

studious unto that delicate and polished kind of lcarnmg. Then did Erasmus take occasion to make the
scoffing echo : 'Decem annos consumpsi in legcndo
Cicerone;' and the echo answered in Greek 'OvE,'
'Asine,'" which signifies, in plain English, that if
he had spent ten years in reading Cicero he was a
donkey for his pains.
In concluding these remarks upon ·wit and Humour,
in their various forms, it may be well to mention a
few modern English and American writers in whose
works they are found, and a general perusal of which
will illustrate our subject, to the student, better than

never-failing point to his illustrations of the "Popular
Fallacies,'' and particularly in his refutation of the
adage "Handsome is that handsome does," by describing a lady so very ill-looking that the adage
could not apply. Perhaps as a ltumourist, in the
fullest meaning of the word, English literature presents no rival to Lamb.

more extended precepts.
And here it should be observed that most writers
for popular favour, do, at some time or other, undertake the witty and humorous in discourse; but th ere
are a few who find in themselves the comic clement
an exhaustless stream, which flows through all their
works. Of course, then, in looking for .s uch illustrations, we fir st accost the professe d humourists; and
here we shall find wit and humour abounding.
Genuine humour, combined with true pathos, may be
found in the works of Charles Lamb; his Essays of
Elia being a double fount, from which we may constantly draw both laughter and t ears.
Fun and
pathos are both to be found in the stories of the halfpay officer, Captain .Jackson; and the superannuated
man-i. e., Charles Lamb himself; and there is a

107

Sydney Smith is a professed wit, whose sayings
are repeated everywhere; but he has little humour.
Thomas Hood has given universal pleasure by his comic
poems, and by his humorous prose stories, and has
realized our idea of genuine humour by his exquisite
pathos in the " Song of the Shirt," and " The Bridge
of Sighs." Barham is renowned for his plays upon
words, and for many humorous descriptions . . Dickens
and Thackeray are wits of the kind called Satirists,
and yet they both have rare powers of wit and huinour
of a more genial nature. Praed, in his "Vicar,''
and "Belle of the Ball,'' has exhibited both wit and
humour, and in his "Red Fisherman,'' a powerful
combination of humour and satire.

·washington

Irving, in his Knickerbocker's History of New York, has indulged in a humorous vein,
with entire success; and his sketches of Geoffrey
Crayon, are genial and delightful, from their occasional sly and delicate touches of humour.
It may be doubted whether any country has produced
a writer in whose poems wit and humour are so cleverly

108

ARISTOTLE'S DIVISION OF ORATOHY.

RIIETOlUC.

employed, either separately or in combination, as m
the works of Dr. 0. W. Holmes. In his comic poems
humour is always present, and in his "Autocrat of
the Breakfast Table," there are flashes of true wit
irradiating the less humorous paths of science and
philosophy.
It is astonishing to observe that among the poets,
and some too of fertile imagination, a few are not
gifted with wit and humour. Byron has very little
of either, and his poems owe their charm to clear,
connected, elevated thought ; and vVordsworth was
absolutely without wit; and was, we are told, unable
to comprehend it in others.
It is manifest that extracts from any of these writers
could find no place in a work of the compass of this.
The student must seek his own illustrations, and he
will be amply repaid by the search. The study of
Rhetoric presupposes the study of the great works,
by means of which the standards and rules of Hhetoric are framed. Although, as has been already
observed, language and style, in all their efforts to
please the taste, come under the scrutiny of Hhetorical i"Esthetics ; they occupy so important a place
in the divisions of Rhetoric that they must be treated
of separately. Before considering them, however,
the next important step is to enumerate, classify,
and explain, the different kinds of Discourse.
This will form the subject of the next chapter.

CHAPTER

109

iV.

OF THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF DISCOURSE.

(30.) Aristotle's Division of Oratory.
ALL our examples and illustrations, by means of
which we may consider the manner of constructing
discourse, as to its invention, arrangement, and style,
are to be found in the varieties of discourse already
existing, which form the wealth of standard English
literature. It will be better, at this point, therefore,
to mention the different kinds of writing according
to their form and purpose, and to give definitions and
illustrations of each.
Most of these kinds of discourse ·are well known
to persons of even little reading, and a few simple
explanatory words will enable us to bear them in
mind, to aid us when we come to the subjects of Invention and Style. From their analysis, indeed, we shall
become better able to understand the design of invention in discourse, as we observe how this design is
carried out by the distinguished masters of English
10

llO

RHETORIC.

and American literature. And here we can have but
little aid from the ancient rhetoricians, since in their
time discourse meant principally oratory, and all dirisions of it had reference to a speaker and a hearer.
Things are now entirely changed. Printi11g has made
written discourse the great general subject of rhetorical rules, and oratory but one subordinate class. It
is true that Aristotle lays down a few rules as to the
difference between the style to be used in writing, anJ
the style to be used in pleading; but in this case his
written discoitrse is one originally designed to bo pronounced as an oration, and afterwards to be consulted
for reference ; and his pleading is extemporaneous
speaking, in which the circumstances and the occasion prompt thoughts, words, and action. With the
view that every discourse is an oration, he has ranged
all kinds of orations under the three heads-Demonstrative, Judicial, and Deliberative-using these words
with significations not unlike those we apply to them
now.

Demonstrative oratory he asserts is that which we
only hem·-with regard to the points of v;hich we are
not constituted judges-and it has relation to the present time; we take for granted what is said, and r eceive it as of necessity true, because it is supposed
to come from an inform ed and skilful demonstrator.
If, besides merely l1 earing and receiving in present
time, the hearer is also to judge of some things tl1at

ARISTOTLE'S DIVISION OF ORATORY.

Ill

are already past, as the jurymen judge, in our law
courts, of the evidence, the · speeches of counsel, and
the charge of the judge, then these speeches and
charge constitute judieial oratory.
Again, if the hearer is to judge of something to.
come-that is, to frame his future plans 01: conduct
by the oration which he hears, this is called deliberative oratory.
~ro the demonstrative oratory, he sa.ys, it belongs

to praise or dispraise, and thus to establish the person or action as honourable or dishonourable : it
belongs to judicial oratory to accuse and to defend,
as in law, and thus to prove the person or cause ju.<Jt
or unjust: and to deliberative oratory ·it belongs to
prove a thing-with an eye to its future uses-as
profitable or unprofitable. At a glance it will appear
that all kinds of modern oratory might really be ranged
under these three heads.
Aristotle has given us a full treatise upon the sub.:.
jects, the means, and the ends of these different kinds
of discourse, which, historically considered shows us
the state of rhetorical science in that day, and is, for
this reason, quite valuable; and, as applied to oratory
alone, it is not without application at the present
day; but so various and different are the divisions of
discourse as applied to various ends, in modern times,
that we must seek a more extended list of the different kinds of writing: and one which includes the

112

RHETORIC.
POETitY.

various kinds of printed discourse. '\Ve sha11 not
attempt to mention every kind of writing, for this
task would be impossible; but, with a glance at the
philosophy of its variety, we shall give a .few o: the
simpler forms and illustrate them. In domg this we
shall begin by laying down the principles of a general
classification.

(31.) Logical Division of the kinds of Discourse.
And here it is necessary to keep in view the principle according to which we mean to divide ; the
division should be logical, and the different parts or
members should be independent of each other. '.I1hus,
if we state poetry to be one kind of discourse, and
epistolary writing to be another, we shall be evid~ntly
wrong, since letters may be and are frequently written
in poetry, and thus the two are at once confounded;
so, too, prose fiction, or novels, are often written in
a series of letters. Now we may choose many principles of division according to w!ticlt to classify the
different kinds of writing.
Thus, according to tlie form, we divide discourse
into poetry and p1·ose: for it is evident that the subject-matter of poetry, although usually of a higher
order than that of prose, may be presented in prose;
and that the peculiarity of poetry, in this regard, lies
in tile forrn.

113

Again, according to tlw effect wlticli we design to
produce on the mind of a hearer-keeping · this
always in view as a part of our theme-we may
divide discourse, whether written or extemporaneous,
yet designed for delivery, into oratory, which is obscn;ant of the character and mind of a hearer who is

present and knovm, and written discourse, designed
only to be read with the eye to inform the mind of
those who may be unknown to the writer.
And written discourse, in prose, may be divided,
according to the subject itself an~{, its just treatment,
into Letters, History, Biography, .Essays, and Prose
Fiction. · The number may b,e increased by subdivisions, but it is thought that under the genera or
classes mentioned most forms of discourse will range
themselves.
In this part of the work we shall principally confine ourselves to the clear definition and illustration
of these various classes.
Keeping in mind these distinctions, let us begin
with Poetry, in the first-mentioned division, which, it
has been said, differs from Prose mainly in form. It
constitutes a large division of discourse.

(32.) Poetry.
question has been often asked, What is Poetry?
and if no simple definition has been found, it· is be'J]ie

10 *

H

114

RHETORIC.

cause it is a most complex subject, and will scar cely
admit of one.
As to its form, Poetry may be defined to be metrical
composition, or versified languag e; and as to the subJect-matter and its treatment, poetry differs from
ordinary prose, in that it is the language of tlic
imagination and of true sentiment. As contrasted
with Poetry, prose would imply the common language of men, untrammelled by poetical measure
and rhyme, in which the im agination does not play
so prominent a part. But from what has just been
said., it is evident that a simple definition will not
properly limit the meaning of Poetry. Nor, unfortunately, are we aided in our search by the derivation of the word. It is derived from the Greek,
7tomv, to do, or malce, and hence the 7toir;'!'r;>, or poet,
was a maket·: a maker of what? Many persons have
thought that they found in this derivation the recognition of the creative power of the poet's imagina- ·
tion; but in this they have been mistaken. In the
earliest Grecian periods, the bard made and sung his
own verses, and was called aoi~o,, the singer; but
when, owing to the popularity of this early poetry,
the two functions were separated; when one man
made and the other sang the ballads and the epics,
the singer was as before the aoi~o,, and the rnalcer was
called noir;'!'r;>, the poet, and the combined art of maker
and singer was denominated Poetry.

POETRY.

115

The due rhetorical order in which to consider
Poetry would be, .first, as to its form, that is, the
character and kinds of versification, and the whole
subject of poetical prosody; and, second, the domain
of Poetry, as to its subjects, its thoughts, and its dealings with the imagination and the heart. But such
considerations would require a volume to themselves.
~l1he first of these belongs justly to the science and
art of Grammm·, and need not here be discussed.
\Ve shall premise our consideration of the divisions of
poetry with a few words concerning the second, viz. :
poetry, as to its essence, and the materials with which
it works. And here we state that Poetry as an art
'.
'
must be distinguished from that poetic feeling inher ent in so many minds, but for the utterance of which
so few are gifted with power. The power to appreciate and enjoy poetry has often been mistaken for
the power to express it.
'.l'his power of utterance enables the poet to express
this inherent passion for beauty and grandeur, for
truth and power, with which many minds are gifted;
and in the accomplishment of these glorious ends to
subsidize the Imagination and the Fancy, and to
choose, adapt, and modulate language, and all this
according to the principle of variety in uniformity.
The objects of poetry are to please and to refine
the human mind, and to expand the affections of the
human heart, making the whole being glow with a

RIIETOllIC.

DIFFEltENT !{INDS OF l'OETRY.

new enjoyment; and fo this end it embodies nature
and art ; anJ passing beyond the region of either, it
creates new worlds of Fancy, and new beings as their
fitting denizens.
Poetry has been classed with Painting and Music ;
and while it has much in common with both, it is
greater than either; for it transforms both to its own
uses.
Painting depicts only to the eye; poetry paints to
the mind: music reaches only the ear; poetry, often
adopting the accompaniment of music, and yet not
absolutely needing ~ts aid, has a power to make harmony in the soul, to attune the intellectual powers to
tones of which the music of the ear is entirely incapable.
Poetry, like the beautiful tinted light passing
through "storied windows," throws its glories upon
the common things of life, and makes them radiant
and lovely; as upon Keats's kneeling maiden:-

of them. Accurate observation of human life, its
essence, its aims, its hopes, and its faith; and faithful descriptions of what he sees in all the realms of
thought. It also implies to be gifted with a sensibility which is keenly alive to the beautiful and the
sublime in what he sees and makes the subject of his
verse.

llG

"Rose bloom s fell on her l1an<l s together prcst.,
And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
Auel on h er hair a glory like n. saint;
She seemed n. splendid angel newly drcsf.,
Save wings, for heaven."

And if such, in general, be the sphere and power
of poetry, what is it to be a poet? '..L1o be a poet im
plies several rare qualities, and a rarer combination

117

Imagination and Fancy he must possess, to create
and combine.
Reflection he must lrnve as a habit, by which the
regions of the Imagination are made familiar, and
duly peopled with ideal forms of fitting character and
instinct with life, and not with grotesque images ;
and a rare judgment which will so use these other
faculties, and so curb any one of them in its unruly
moods as to assure symmetry and just proportion.
And yet what diversity do we find among the poets
themselves, by reason of the unequal distribution of
these gifts, and the undue predominance of one to
the detriment of others! ~l1lrns are formed different
schools of poetry, and much controversy as to the
nature of the art itself.

(33.) D ijferent I{frids of Poetry.
Poetry has been, for convenient arrangement,
divided into several forms, or classes, according to
the materials used, and the manner of their setting
forth.

118

EPIC POETRY.

n HE'l'ORIC.

They may all be included under the following
classes : EPIC, LYRIC, PASTORAL, DnAMATIC, DIDACTIC, and SATIRIC Poetry. This, it will be observed,
is a convenient rather than a logical and exact
arrangement, since the different kinds evidently
overlap each other; the Drama may be satiric, and
the Epic may set forth truth in a didactic manner·

'

but for convenience the division is suflicient and
useful.

(34.) Epic Poetry.
~rhe

derivation of this word is from the verb utw
'
(obsolete in the present ten.se,) which meant to speak :
thus otos meant primarily a word ; then a speech, and,
by an easy movement, a narration.
Such, then, is the general signification of Epic
poetry; it is narrative poetry, in which some principal personage is introduced as tho hero, and the
stirring events of his life and career arc narrated,
with all the accessories necessary to complete the
story.
'l'he Epic is subdivided into the I.leroic, which has
been called the Epic Proper; the Poetic Romance;
the T ale in verse; the Mock H eroic ; m all which
the principle of narration is employed.
From the earliest times the heroic or epic propp,r
has be en, in general, founded on history, and narrates the historic drcds of great mcu. But if cartlily

11()

history is the basis of the story, in many cases the
imagination of the poet soars beyond the earth, and
strives to create and describe the history of new
worlds, discovered by the imagination, and ingeniously to connect them with our own. Of heroic
poems every one will readily point to the most notable examples. Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, the first
describing the wrath of Achilles, and narrating the
wonderful deeds in and around Troy, and the second
relating the adventures of Ulysses, are the finest of
the ancient heroic poems. Homer is, indeed, the
father of Epic poetry.
Among other truly heroic poems we must also class
Virgil's ".LEneid," Dante's "Divina Commedia,"
'l'asso's "Jerusalem Delivered/' Ariosto's "Orlando
Furioso," and Milton's "Paradise Lost," all of which
are renowned wherever literary culture has exerted
the least influence.
'
Of the Poetic Romance Spenser's "Faerie Queene"
is a magnificent example; and Byron's "Corsair"
an<l "Lara" are well known as spirited illustrations.
Such, also, is Moore's "Lalla Rookh," with its fine
poetic stories. Of the next · and humbler form of
the Epic,-the Tales in Verse,-Crabbe's "Tales of
the Hall," the " Village," and the " Borough," are
examples. His design was to paint nature in low life,
and Byron has called him "Nattire's sternest painter,

120

ltHETOIUC.

yet the best.'' Of this kind are many of W onl::iworth's poems.
It need hardly be asserted that epic poetry, in its
highest forms, is only produced by the highest order
of genius, and a glance at the course of history
teaches us that epic poems of such an order arc
rarely produced-scarcely more than one in the same
era, and after great intervals of time.
Cowper has justly and beautifully expressed this
thought, in his Table-talk : "Ages clapsctl ere Homer's l:unp a ppca rctl,
Anti ages ere the J\Ia.ntuan Swn.n was h eart!;
To carry nature l engt hs unknown before,
'l'o give a l\lillon birth, as kc<l ages more.
'l'hus genius rose anti set. nt ord ered times,
A ntl s hot tt Ll:ty-~p rin g int.o <li s f:rnt climes,
Ennobling every region that he chose;
He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose;
And, t.cdi ous y ea.rs of Gothic darkness pa st,
Emerged all splcn<lo ur in our isle at last;
Thus lovely h alcyo ns dive int.o the main,
Then show far off t heir shining plumes again."

'l'h e mock-lieroic has been already described aml
illustrated in the section (27) on Wit and Humour,
to which it is really allied in its design and construction. It retains the form and external characteristics
of epic poetry, but it places in lwroic positions, and
endows with heroic function s, meaner persons and
objects, with the design of ridiculing the true heroes
and their deeds.

LYRIC POETRY.

121

(35.) Lyric Poetry.
Lyric Poetry, as the name indicates, meant poetry
set to the music of the Lyra or Lute, and was supposed to be sung with an accompaniment, as our
ballads are to the music of a guitar or piano-forte at
the present day. Under the head of Lyric Poetry
arc ranged · the following subdivisions : The hymn, which is used in the praise of some
Divinity, and, in the Christian worship, always in
praise of God, and designed for a congregation ; the
song, which varies according to its subject, being of
love, or war, or comic character; the ballad, which
originally was the song of the dancers, and now
means only a popular song of more pretension, perhaps, than the song just mentioned; and the ode,
from the Greek w817, a song, which was designed to
express feelings of high excitement, and in its divisions of strophe, antistrophe, and epode, formed a
prominent pa.rt of the Greek drama.
In more modern times the ode seems to have been
longer than the other lyrical poems, and of a more dignified and stately nature. Such arc the Odes of Keats,
one of which is entitled an "Ode to Pan"_:_in imitation of the Greek poetry, and another the " Ode to a
Nightingale." So, too, we have Dryden's "Ode to
St. Cecilia," and Collins's "Odo on the Passions"
'
and his exquisite "Otlc to Evening;" and, among
l1

124

DRAMATIC POETRY.

ltlIETORIC.

(37.) Dramatic Poetry.
The derivation of our word drama, from the Greek
bpaw, to make, gives us no trace of its present use;
but it is very easily defined without such aid . 'l'he
drama is a poem portraying events and actions in
human life as represented by persons standing for
those to whom they are attributed. In all other forms
of poetry the poet himself speaks; here he remains
hidden, and makes others speak ; and his success, in
a great measure, depends upon his making th em say
just what they ought, under the circumstances in
which he has placed them. The divisions of dramatic
writing are into Tragedy; Comedy; Dramas founded
on History, and being neither essentially comic nor
tragic; the 1Wasqiie and the Opera. Many other names
have been coined to express slight deviations from
these, as Vaudeville, lJfelodrame, &c.
Tragedy, which in the Greek (rpaywllia, from rpayo~,
a goat, and wll>;, a song) meant originally a goat song,
that is, a song sung in honour of Bacchus, with the
sacrifice of a goat, has passed through many phases to
arrive at its present meaning. It now contains the
heroic element, and may be defined a dramatic poem
us1wlly dwelling upon the deeds of some illustrioits or
interesting hero, and always ending fatally to one or
more of tl1e principal persons. It is thus des igned
to awaken patlto,c_;, and sometimes even terror. 'l'hus

'

125

in the Tragedy of Hamlet, the principal characters,
Ophelia, Hamlet, Laertes and others, die in the
course of the play. In Othello, the plot is fatal to
Desdemona and Othello ; Macbeth and Richard the
III. are other examples of Shakspeare's tragedies
familiar to all. Others need not be mentioned for
illustration.
Comedy (Greek xwµwl5ta), derives its name from the
original players going about in carts from village to
village (from xwµ>;, a village, and wll>;, a song), and
thus the original comedy was the work of strolling
singers. Comedy, in its present meaning, proposes,
as the object of its aim, to satirize the vices and
follies of mankind, and to this end it subsidizes wit
and humour in their various forms, and ridicule.
These ends are admirably attained by the skill,
the dress, and language of the actors. There is
usually a tissue of intrigues, which is happily unwoven at the la.st, making all things right at the
close ; the design of the comedy is amusement, in
its forms of mirth and merriment. It is further
divided, according to the refinement of its style and
the decency of its humour, into high or genteel, and
low comedy. Under this latter designation is mcluded the farce.
Besides amusement, however, comedy is also designed as a school of manners, and although it sometimes has exercised a goocl influence on the age, there
11 *

_,

19 ..

nJIETORIC.

DRAMATIC POETRY.

are many instances of its being a vicious and dangerous teacher. rrlrns the French comedies of :Moliere
held up to just scorn the hypocrite ( Tartufe), the
miser (L'Avare), and the misanthrope, (Le J11isantltrope), and may be regarded on the whole as having
been beneficial to the people of that period; but the
English comic dramatists of the Restoration, and
many of the earlier plays of Beaumont and Fletcher,
have hel<l. virtue up to ridicule, aml _made license ancl
villany charming by the wit and humour with which
they are surrounded. On the whole, as a school of
manners English comedy has not generally been productive of good, and, \vith it, the clr::una for repre-

the seventeenth century. The parts were played by
distinguished, and even royal, personages, in . maslcs
or visors-hence its name. In the getting up of the
performance the masque was frequently attended with
some wonderful scenic transformations, not unlike
those on the modern stage, in which a prison suddenly becomes a throne, or a mountain suddenly sinks,
and leaves us an ocean scene, with ships in full sail.
Parts of Shakspeare's plays are masques; examples are also found in the writings of Beaumont and
Fletcher; and particularly is Ben Jonson noted for
the number and stateliness of his masques.
But of all dramatic performances that bear the
name, none will compare in beauty with Milton's
poem of "Comus," which owes its immortality to its
noble sentiments so poetically expressed, much more
than to its dramatic form, which seems accidental
and unimportant. It should be mentioned that the
use of tragic and comic masks, to cover the face and
give expression to the actor, is as old as the Greek
drama. The Greek tragic masks were frightful to
see, and the comic. masks were painted with a laugh•
ing countenance: both were provided with large
mouths, within which were sounding bars of metal to
give more strength to the voice-hence the use of the
word personare, to sound through; which led to the
personce of the drama, and has given us our English
word per~on.

12G

sentation has sadly clegenerated.
It is apparent that both Tragedy and Comedy, as
to their subject-matter, may be written in prose as
well as verse, and thus are not, of necessity, to be
classed as a division of poetry: but the Greek drama,
from which we derive the names, was almost always
in verse, and accompanied with music, and so the
exceptions are even rare in the modern drama, to the
rule that tragedy and comedy arc written in verse, and
are poetic in style ::mcl structure. Of the dramas
founded on history, we have good examples in the
historic plays of Shakspeare, which are just representations of the age which they represent.
The llfasque, scarcely known in our day, was a
theatrical drama much in vogue in England during

lfa..,..u-11

s = r"t tt»#f Utt:tee=•~.,...,...orem ~w~....- -..._.
... ,.,.'F
......
..,...,
••""",,,._"~'...-~·""'-'"""'....
~~-.,..........---

·rm

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-

71

7

IUl ETURIC.

DIDACTIC AND DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.

'rhe Opera-from the Latin opus-era, to indicate
the labours of such an exhibition-is a dramatic performance set entirely to music, and presented with
magnificent scenery, numerous performers, and rich
dresses, and frequently accompanied with dancing.
The JJ1elodrama is a play in which the dialogue is
diversified by occasional songs. Such, also, is the
Vaudeville, which is not used in English, but belongs
exclusively to the French. The songs in this latter
play are always light and comic.

means interesting and attractive. This is .done by
tho cadences of metre and rh~me, by the use of
poetic figures and imagery, and by descriptive illustrations, which are of the nature of beautiful paintings, leaving a much stronger impression upon the
mind than can be conveyed by ordinary prose.
It is hardly just to name as another class or kind
of poetry what certain authors . have called descriptive poetry: for description should belong, in some
measure, to all kinds of poetry, and in an eminent
degree to epie, dramatic, and didactic poetry ; perhaps it is an essential element in these, and it may
well be considered the test of genius in each of these
forms.
For it is by description that the poet creates, combines, and presents his characters, seizing, as a
painter does, the exact expression of his figures, and
selecting the circumstances and accessories which
form the concomitants of his picture. The descriptive poet catches the strong points of a pictur~, and
endeavours to paint it to you not in general . terms,
but in exact words, by which you are led to .see it
just as he does. In the primev.al forest you stand
with him, among

1:!8

(38.) JJidactfo and Descriptive Poetry.
By didactic poetry is meant that of which the principal object is direct instruction. Such poems are
the Georgics of Virgil, written upon agriculture, cattle-breeding, and kindred subjects.
Other excellent examples may be found in Pope's
famous "Essays," in verse, and also in Cowper's
shorter poems, "~:rable '.I1alk," "Tirocinium," and
others, and in "Akenside's Pleasures of the Imagination."
As it is the primary design of the didactic poet to
instruct, it may be asked, why not make prose the
vehicle of a simpler and more natural instruction?
~rhe answer is easy : the poetic form is assumed to
please, to enliven, and to render the instruction
which, without it, might be dull and dry, by its

" - - o l d trees, tall oaks, and gnarled pines,
Thnt stream with gray green mosses; here the ground
W ns never touel1ed by spade, nnd flowers spring up
Unsown, and die ungnthered."
I

12\J

13i

RIIETOIUC.

SATIRICAL POETRY.

Everywhere he describes his scenes so vividly that
you are among them, and the impression of your

Wit.It golden architrave; nor did there want
Cornice or frieze wilh bossy sculptw·es graven;
The r oof was fr etted gold."

spirit visit is never lost.
English poetry is full of charming descriptions.
How beautiful and minute are the delineations of
Keats, in the opening lines of "The Eve of St.
Agnes!"
" St.. Agnes' Eve-Ah ! biller chill il was ;
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold,
The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the fl ock in woolly fohl;
Numb were lhe beadsman's finger s while he told
His rosary, and while his fro sted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seemed t aking flight for heaven, wilhoul a dealh,
Past the sweet Virgin' s picture, while hi s pray er he saith."

But it needs no lengthened demonstration to prove
that description enters largely into all kinds of
poetry. A few examples will suffice.
How many and how noble are the descriptions in
the Paradise Lost ! a poem which may stand as a
model Epic. Amid much that is ideal, and that the
poet designed to le ave to some extent vague, in order
to heighten the interest of our Fancy, we have numerous minute and beautiful delineations. Look at his
noble description of the building of Satan's palace in
Hell:"Built like a temple, wher e pilasters round
Were set., and Doric pillars overlaid

The lurid fanc stands before us as we read.
Of the lake of fire itself, as Satan emerges from
its burning depths, how expressive his outline of
words!" On each hand the flames,
Driven backward, slope their pointing spires, and rolled
In billows, leave i' the midst a horrid vale."

'.l.'here can be nothing more descriptive and more
beautiful than Raphael's account of the Creation in
'
the seventh book of the Paradise Lost ; the original
instant birth of vegetable and animal being, passing
from "harmony to harmony," until we have
.

"The diapason, closing full in man."

But the temptation, however strong, to linger upon
these beauties of description, must be resisted: else
we should quote largely from every book.
It would be easy and pleasant to show, by the use
of spirited and graphic examples, what we have
asserted, that descriptive poetry is rather an element
present in all the various kinds of poetry, than a distinct class in itself.

(39.) Satirical Poetry.
The last of the kinds of poetry enumerated is

RHETORIC.

SATIRICAL POETRY.

Satirical Poetry, which evidently means poetry, the
design and burden of which is satire. This is a class
which has been known from the earliest times.
Satirical poetry was used by the classic Latins as
a vehicle for the rebuke of public vices, and their
works have, at the present day, an historic value, in
that they portray to us the evil state of society,
scarcely exaggerated in the period of which they
wrote. Whether as a censor of public morals the
Roman satirist accomplished a gooJ. work, may perhaps be doubted. Among the renowned Latin satirists are Horace, Juvenal, and Plautus, whose works
are currently read at the present day. They seem
to have given a sort of model to satirical writers even
of our own day, and their works possess an identity
and originality more marked than any other form of
Latin poetry. Thus Doctor Johnson has based his
fine satires called " London," and the "Vanity of
Human ·wishes," upon the third and tenth of the
Satires of Juvenal, and has followed their general
plan closely. And Lord Byron, in his celebrated
satire called " The English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," has imitated the beginning of one of Juvenal's satires in his own opening.
Among the most remarkable satirical poems in
English, are the "Absalom and Achitophel," and
the "Mac Flecknoe" of Dryden, and the more successful imitation of the latter, the "Dunciad" of

Pope. The "Mac Flecknoe" and the "Dunciad"
have the same general plot-the elevation to the laureateship of stupidity, of the miserable rivals of these
great poets. But while the former has sunk into
obscurity, the latter is still read and admired. · While
conducting the poem as a rnock heroic, called the
" Dunciad," in imitation of the Iliad, or Eneid, and
their heroes, and never forgetting the special object
of his satire, Pope has laid down some inimitable
Jaws of criticism, and stated many noble truths in
his poem; his satire is interesting, because it is of
the most trenchant character, and seems, in a great ·
degree, to have been deserved by the objects of it. '
But like other kinds of merited chastisement, so well
deserved by the recipients, the person who inflicted
it has not elevated his own honour by it.
In our own day and country, some satirical poets
have arisen. Among these, in a genial spirit, Holmes
has written his Astr~a, and Urania, and Saxe has
produced, with other works of satirical character, a
poem on Progress, which hits the passing fashions
and follies of the age.
The temptation to the man of wit and humour is
always towards satire ; and since human nature is
full of foibles, he is never without argument and illustration ; but these he should resist or use sparingly,
for satire presents great inducements to injustice,
12

132

133"

134

IlllE'l'OllIC.

and is generally cruel and aggressive in its flu sh of
victory.
The habit of satirical writing in prose has be en
much more common in modern times than in poetry,
and satire has taken the form, more complex mHl yet
more interesting, of the novel or talc ; or of short
sketches, with attractive titles and evident aims. Of
the satirical novel, the works of Dickens and 1,hackcray are good examples, and of the humbler forms of
prose satire, Thackeray's lighter sketches, such as
are found in "The.Book of Snobs," and the numerous piquant incidents in the English "Punch," arc
the best illustrations.
The larger poems, the original aim and entire construction of which are satirical, are called pliilosopliical satires ; to distinguish them from those in which
satire is not the principal object, although it may
enter into their composition. On the whole, the philosophical satirist is not to be envied, for he rejects
the good things which come within his scope, to
dwell constantly upon the evils which abound in
society; and the very contemplation must be corrupting and hardening.
There may be a few other forms of poetry growing
out of a combination of some of these, forming, so
to speak, composite orders; but this division of poetry,
made entirely for convenience of arrangement, will
be found quite sufficient for rhetorical classification.

OF ORATORY.

135

CHAPTER V.
OF DISCOURSE IN PROSE.

(40.) Of Oratory.
vVE next consider Prose writings, which include by
far the most numerous forms of discourse. The first
division of discourse in prose was, in general terms,
into spolcen and written discourse; and this was stated
to be according to the part which the hearer played,
as an element in the construction of the discoursethat is, whe th er the discourse is to be addressed to
him by the voice of the speaker, or whether it is to
be written, and thus addressed to the mind through
the eye. vVhen the idea of a hearer is present in the
mind of the speaker, and when a certain impression
or effect is to be produced upon him, not only by
the thoughts contained in the discourse,-which might
have been written out,-nor by the graces of language,
as to its construction and its ornaments,-which might
also have been put in the form of writing ;-but by
the kindling of the eye, the modulations of the voice,
the movements and gestures of the hands and arms,

137

. mrnTORIC.

MODERN DIVISION OF ORATORY •

tho tension of the nerves, a.nd the action of the whole
man ; the placing, as it were, of his soul in magnetic
contact with the souls of his hearers, so that they
read its inmost meaning, then we have Oratory proper-which, in its perfection, is Eloquence.
'.:I1his, as we have seen, was the primary ground and
scope of Rhetoric ; and with this it has achieved great
historic triumphs in many famous periods. It wrought
wonders in the <lays when Demosthenes thundered his
Philippics from the Berna at Athens. It was powerful when Cicero saved Rome from the conspiracy of
Catilin e. From the lips of Peter the Hermit it
roused Europe to tho Crusades. It governed England in the days of Chatham, and Burke, and J>itt.
It controlled the storms of France, under the powerful appeals of Mirabeau; and in our own revolutionary period our forefathers were strengthened to
resist British aggression, by the stirring eloquence
of Atlams, Otis, an<l Henry; nor is there to be found
a period of historic eloquence more brilliant than
that in which vVebster, Clay, and Calhoun have given
us models of free and classic eloquence, as a noble
legacy to American literature. But, in every case,
the hearer is chiefly to be cousidoretl ; and even now,
when we read their speeches, we figure to ourselves
the circumstances under which they were delivered;
the eager auditory; the important issues; the impassioned speaker; and the expected result. We arc

not content with the thoughts which lie embalmed in
the printed words; we conjure up the glowing form;
we hear again the voice, with its thrilling tones; we
see the burning eye, the breathing form, the illumined
countenance; we turn to the earnest hearers all on
' thus
tiptoe with expectation and excitement; and
the cadences ring in our ears, while memory and
fancy stand beside us, and give us their magic assist~
ance.

13G

(41.) . Jlfod ern Divisions of Oratory.
li'or rhetorical convenience, Oratory, in modern
times, has been divided into Academic, Political, and
Sacred, a sli ght deviation from Aristotle's division,
but more convenient than his. Here, again, it must
be noticed that this is not an exact, but only a convenient distinction, since sacred oratory may sometimes be of an academic character, as is the case at the
English Universities; and again it very often turns
upon political affairs of moment. It is, indeed, a
division rather of the general fields in which Oratory
is used, than of Oratory itself.
'l'hus academic Oratory, having before it the setting forth of some good or knowledge, either for private or public instruction, covers the special topics
of orations, dissertations, disquisitions, and lectures.
Political Oratory, having the judgment of a cause,
a11ll the administration of justice, either in the limited
12 *

--

w

138

ltllETOlUC.

sphere of a community, or in international matters,
for its aims, is to be found with the judges and counsel, in courts of law; with the senators and representatives in legislative assemblies, and in the speechmaking, which is a part of our system of public
elections.
Sacred Oratory is rather of a composite order, and
in modern times deals with man in his relations to
God and his fellows; thus it includes sermons, lwmilies, and expository lectures. In these various kinds
of oratory, the subject-matter and the language of
the discourse may be prepared beforehand; or they
may both be left to be drawn out by the occasion.
'l'his latter constitutes extemporaneous discourse.

(42.) A cademic Oratory.
This kind of Oratory evidently includes not only
the course of college instruction, but many forms of
discourse connected with polite learning.
Mr. John Quincy Adams has compared the oratory
of the college to the drill and the review of troops;
a constant practice designed for other hours and
sterner uses : the eloquence of th o se nate, t he bar,
and the pulpit, he likens to duty in the 11our of Lattle,
when our tactics and training are put to the sterner
test. '11 his is an apt illustration.
Considering College Oratory as one species of tlia t

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ACADEMIC ORATORY.

130

branch which we have called Academic, we propose
to say a few words as to its uses ·and its varieties:
and we observe that the general principles which
apply to college oratory will, in some degree, apply
to all oratorical discourse. In the consideration of
Oratory, another word, which stands now for a distinct branch of study, plays a prominent part. That
word is elocution (from e and loquor), and it means a
cultivation of the voice as to its volume, its articulation, its modulation, and its special adaptation to the
thoughts uttered, and the occasion. Elocution is
practised by declaiming the works of the best speakers, and endeavouring to give to them the proper
effect, such, indeed, as the authors are supposed to
have produced. The practice of Oratory, in our col. leges, is generally limited to the declamation of pieces
selected from the speeches of the most eloquent men,
or the recitation of poetical extracts, by the lower
classes; and the composition and deli very of pieces
upon set themes by the higher. These, with the preparation of essays and translations at stated periods,
usually exhaust the practice and instruction in these
branches in our colleges and seminaries. The purely
oratorical part is taught according to a system of elocution; but many persons have regarded success in
Oratory, or what is ordinarily called eloquence, to be
a natural gift, and have thought that it is not to be
in any degree acquired.

-

140

141

llIIE'l'OilIC.

ACADEMIC ORA'l'OllY.

The history of Oratory teaches quite another lesson, however, for it shows us numerous instances of
its development from the most unpromising begi nnings, and by these examples offers encouragement
to all men possessed of common parts, to cultivate
the study and practice of Oratory.
Although a system of rules, founded upon the practice of the best speakers, has been formed, and may
be followed with adv~ntage, there are some directions
dependent upon the individual rather than the art,
which are more important still.
I. And, first of all, it behooves the speaker to be
clear; elem· in his own conceptions; clear in his expression of them ; and so clear in his emphasis of
words and sentences as to convey his exact meaning
to the audience.
II. In the next place, it seems like a platitude to
say to a college speaker that he should be natural.
Ily this direction we would imply, first, the natural
invention and easy expression of the thought, with a
view to the understanding of hen.rers; and in its
delivery it would also imply the absence of timidity
or diffidence, which in a mind unaccustomc<l to public
display is quite pardonable, but which mars the effect
of the discourse by exciting the hen.rer's pity for the
speaker, rather than his interest in the subject. It
also implies that we should say what we mean, in a

manner which is our own, and in language which
naturally springs to our lips.
Again, to be natural implies the use and posture
of the person, and the gestures made with the arms,
in an easy, graceful, and natural manner; the gestures, particularly, being suited to the thought, and,
like the words, expressing a part of it, or heightening
the expression of the words: in the words of Hamlet,
" suiting the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep
not the modesty of nature."
III. Again : be earnest. Let earnestness appear
in the discourse itself, as to the evident spirit of its
preparation ; ·so that · the mind · of the hearer . may
be convinced of the honesty and firm persuasion of
your own mind; and that you consider your subject
un important one, and the occasion of its presentation pn.rticularly important. Earnestness will call
out too the appearance of naturalness, by its very
forgetfulness of all urtifice in the minor matters of
elocution, and by . its evident desire to impress the
hearer with the subject of our discou.r se for its own
sake.
The rules of elocution, when founded on nature,
are vuluable aids to the student of Oratory, but a
dependence upon one's own natural powers, a perusal of tho orations of men renowned for their eloquence, and an obscrvution of the finished orators of

142

RIIETOllIC.

our own time, form an admirable system of instruction, which every one may study even without a master. Whatever is clearly conceived in our own mincls
we will be able to express with clearness; whatever
is eaniestly conceived there, will be earnestly expressed. Natural manners in speaking awaken the
sympathy of the hearer; strength of emotion, displayed in words which seem to rise almost involuntarily to our own lips, will go to the heart. While,
then, there is no doubt of the great importance of
the subject-matter of an oration, the manner of its
presentation and delivery are also of high import::mce, and should not be overlooked. "With some
justice it may be said, that Eloquence is born in
us before we have rhetorical rules ; and that Nature
is the only true mistress of the art: other systems,
excellent in themselves, being at best designed to copy,
counterfeit, and develop nature, and to prove the
truth of the motto, A1's celare artcm, which impli es
that the greatest of all arts is to conceal art, or, in
other words, to appear more closely like nature.
Nor will we be ready to account the orator's powers
of easy acquisition, and of light moment. An American writer has justly said:"The labours requisite to form a public speaker
are, by no means, duly appreciated. An absurd idea.
prevails among our scholars, that the finest productions of mind are the fruits of hasty impulse, the

DEBATING socrnTIES.

143

unfolding of a sudden thought, the brief visitations
of' a fortunate hour or evening, the flashings of intui.
tion, or the gleamings of fancy.
"The mistake lies in confounding with the mere
arrangements of thought, or the manual labour of
putting them on paper, the long previous preparation of mind, the settled habits of thought. It has
taken but three hours, perhaps, to compose an admirable piece of poetry, or a fine speech; but the reflections of three or years, of thirty, may have been tending to that result."

(43.) Debating Societi"es.
Connected with most institutions of learning are
debating societies, the nominal design of which is to
give young men readiness of thought and speech, and
that self-control and presence of mind which extemporaneous speaking demands, especially when it is
to be answered and criticised by an opponent immediately.
We shall refer hereafter to the general manner of
conducting a debate, but here a few words may not
be amiss by way of caution. The practice of extemporaneous debate is in many respects a good thing;
but in order that it should be beneficial, the amount
of reading and the preparation of the subJect should
bear a just relation to the fluency of speech.

....

HJIETORIC.

When a young man gets such a readiness of speech
that he can speak about nothing, and keep up a constant stream of elegant language, simply to occupy
a certain time, then the practice of extemporaneous
discourse becomes · a decided evil, and should be
checked.
So much has the show and splendour of Oratory
gained the advance of its solid basis of learning ; so
much have the graces of Elocution usurped the place
of solid thought, that many an indolent mind is satisfied to tallc rather than study; and to practise Rhetoric at the expense of Science and Literature.
A distinguished rhetorician has expressed the
startling doubt whether a first-rate man can be a
first-rate orator. '.rhe danger of temptation which
would lead the orator to depend upon his art, suggests
the converse of the question-that is, whether a firstrate orator is ever a first-rate man.
From these very general preliminary remarks we
pass now to consider some of the forms of Academic
Oratory; let us first take the Oration.

(44.) The Oration.
~J..1he

word Oration, derived from the Latin, oro, to
pray, has come to mean, in our day, a speech or <liscourse of a refined and elevated character pronounced
before a concourse of people.

THE ORATION.

.

145

It is usually" upon some subject of very general
interest, and upon a set occasion; as the obsequies of
a great man; or a public anniversary; or at some
academic exhibition, such as a college commencement;
or before some literary societies of distinction.
'l'hus we have, as examples of the first kinds of
orations, the oration of R. H: Lee on Washington,
just after his death; that upon the death of Adams
:otnd Jefferson, by Webster; that by Adams upon
the death of La Fayette; and the discourse of Edward
Everett upon the death of John Quincy Adams.
A Funeral Oration is frequently called a Eulogy;
and, as this word indicates, it is always designed to
speak well of the dead, to set forth his merits, and
either to be silent upon his faults or to palliate them.
Our addresses to the people on Washington's Birthday, and on the 4th of July, are examples of Anniversary Orations; and many of the finest efforts of
English and American orators have been at academia
celebrations; such as Lord Brougham's at Glasgow;
Lord Macaulay's at Edinburgh; and those of our
Everett, Webster, Story, Preston, and others, before
many American colleges, or literary societies. In
these latter, the subject of the oration is often of a
literary, classical, or historical nature, and is treated
in a much more elevated manner than those designed
for more popular audiences.
Short and less important oratorical efforts, which
13

K

ltIIETOlU C.

THE OHATION.

arc of a nature similar to the Oration, are called
Addresses and Ilarangues j the latter being particularly of a controversial and violent character, such as
revolutionary times would induce; and by its very
name indicating impatience of control, opposition, and

'Yhich are not necessarily prepared for such a purpose. The first of these is derived from dis and sero,
to cast from one, as the farmer casts or sows his grain;
from this it would seem to imply throwing out . some
general facts and hints on a given subject, and leaving them to germinate and grow in the minds of the
hearers: but it is very loosely used to express a short
and essay-like composition.
Disquisition, from dis and qucero, means a formal
inquiry into a given subject; a presentation of the
arguments, pro and con, with an attempt, in every
case, to arrive at a definite conclusion.
Thus, we have disquisitions on government; on morals; a disquisition upon some disputed point in philosophy or science.
Not unlike the disquisition in that form of composition which has been called an argumentative discourse; and, partaking of.the nature of a disquisition
and dissertation combined, is the form of composition
called a thesis, from the Greek verb, -tiOtjµi, to place
or set: the thesis is a set paper, required as an exercise from students before they advance from one
grade to another, to demonstrate the attainments
they have made.
One kind of academic oratory which is becomi1ig
daily of a more popular character, is that known as
lectures.
A lectw·e (from lego-lecturus) meant originally a

boldness of speech.
In all cases the orato1· must choose his subject
well-i. e., with a view to the hearers and 'the occasion; and illustrate it as fully as may be requisite to
a clear and brilliant presentation of it. Ornaments
of thought and language seem to be very properly
used as aids; they are sources of pleasure and interest and relieve the mind from the attention necessary' to the severer portions ; and a certain degree
of diffuseness and even of repetition is allowable, in
order to present clearly and forcibly what is designed
to be but once heard, and yet to make a lasting impression. The subject, on this account, may be very
copiously illustrated, and placed in many .lights, in
order to leave, abundantly, in the hearer's mind the
demonstration and. its true importance.
There are various words used in the programmes
of college commencements ·which express very slight
shades of difference in meaning, and which, indeed,
in some of the best dictionaries are defined in terms
of each other.
Of these are dissertation and disquisition, compositions which are usually declaimed like orations, but

147

140

RIIETOH.IC.

. POLITICAL OilATOHY.

discourse designed to be read to a class, on some subject of study: its form, indeed , was such that it
might have been read by any one else as well as by
the writer. It was not designed to attain for it anything by the graces of oratory, but its simple purpose
was to impart th e in struction desired upon the study
in question. rrhere were l ectures on mechanics,

While 1ectures are used to convey solid instruction,
in a popular form, th ey may be productive of good,
but it may well be doubted whether isolated lectures,
sweetened to suit the popular taste, and enacted like
monologues on the stage, are not in their nature injurious, and do not render the people frivolous and
superficial. Of course there are many exceptions to
such a remark ; but the habit of lecturing in this
manner, so prevalent in late years, has been demonstrating the truth of Pope's assertion-

148

physics, mathematics, &c. In past times, when textbooks were scarce and inadequate, this was the
method of instruction, and on many subj ects it may
still be considered the best method of teaching.
But, passing fro~ its just academic use, and its
proper meaning, the lecture, in its modern acceptation, has become really an oration; and instead of
being simply read, is delivered or pronounced with all
the graces of oratory, and all the ornaments of style.
In accordance with its true academic meaning, the
lecture should be plain, concise, sufficiently illustra-

tive, and, above all, should be within the comprehension of the student, and not bear his fancy along
at the expense of his judgment; for the lec ture differs from the disquisition, in that it places in a clear
light, and with pl ain demonstration, thin gs already
well known to all but the beginner, while the disquisition embodies new matter, which the writer has
found after great labour and research, and which can
only be appreciat ed by minds of equal culture with
his own.

"A litt.le learning is a dangerous thing."

So much has been already laid down upon the general principle of spoken discourse, as it regards college
oratory, that we need not linger long in the consideration of that kind of oratory which we have called
political. ':rlrn directions and cautions to the student
apply equally to older men in the arena of politics.

(45.) Political Oratory.
Here, it will be observed, another element of discourse enters, one which is of the nature of the old
Logic-the debate.
In every case there is an opponent, and an opposite
side; and the hearers are often critics, who stand
r eady to d eny, refute, or advance new modes of
attack .
l ')
L)

.X-

...

-

ItllETORIC.

POLITICAL ORATORY.

Among the different kinds of political orntory, and
forming the highest class of its subjects, aro the
speeches of various kinds in the courts of law; the
conflicting arguments of the opposing counsel; and
the charge of the judge, which, while summing up
the evidence, must, in most cases, imply a judgment
as to the verdict in issue.
The subjects of such orations are of grave import,
and appeal directly to our sympathies, since they
concern the property, liberty, or lives of individual
citizens, and, at the same time, have an eye to the
welfare of the· government-that is, of the grcate1·
number of individuals-by seeing that the laws are
properly vindicated. This form of political oratory
is therefore of prime importance.
This word political, derived from the Greek no:>-.i~,
a city, and meaning originally what had to do with
civic affairs, thus covers all the concerns of civil
government, and may be as properly applied to the
administration of justice as to tho organization of
government. We have, in modern times, however,
used the word political in a more restricted sense.
In the political orations made in courts of law,
which come under Aristotle's class of j'Udicial oratory,
besides the effort to judge of the justice of a cause,
appAals to the feelings are frequently made, in order
to mitigate the punishment ,d1ich is allowed to be due
to the crime.

Thus, we have what are called fine criminal lawyers,
whose forte lies not only in presenting the cause of
their client as favourably as possible to the jury, but
also in enlisting the pity and clemency of the jury
in behalf of the unfortunate, though criminal prisoner.

150

151

Sowe of the most mu·strious orators have gained
their greatest reputation by speeches of a judicial
nature. Curran, Burke, and Sheridan are instances
of English law-pleaders of renown ; and in our own
day, we have had Webster, Choate, Prentiss, Graham, Binney, Sergeant, and David Paul Brown, to
adorn this department of oratory.
The next form of political oratory to be mentioned
is that of the debates in houses of legislation; as in
our United States Congress, and in the assemblies
or legislatures of the several states: these are concerned in making the laws; the application of which
is the scope of judicial oratory. And here it is that
the element of debate becomes chiefly important, and
may be more clearly discerned and studied. In
almost every country two parties are found in the
national legislature, differing on many and essential
points, and striving with each other for the supremacy
in making the laws of the land; and using, it must
be admitted, many unjust methods of attaining their
ends.
rro triumph over their adversary, in many cases is

lllIETOlUC.

esteemed more desirable than to attain to truth, aml
so, many debaters adopt the Socratic form of propounding unanswerable questions; or they pervert
the Logic of Aristotle to give them false conclusions,
using false premisses, specious arguments, and und no
appeals; or they invent a kind of argument, reforre<l
to by Addison and Sterne, as the argumentum .ad
baculinum, which is expressed in English as club-law.
All the resources of Rhetoric are enlisted to gain the
conquest; wit, humour, and ridicule are suborned;
and thus the excellent art of political oratory, which
might be of great benefit, is put to the worst of
uses.
But this is not always so. Pure and thrilling
oratory is often heard in houses of legislation in defence of just laws.
There are no higher flights of English eloquence
than those which were made in the English Parliament in the days when Pitt and Burke, patriots but
philanthropists, were pleading the cause of the American colonies in the cars of their unnatural mother.
And now, in Great Britain, Macaulay, and Stanley,
and Brougham, stand like oratorical knights, whoso
fame and power attract, while they challenge, all new
comers.
American eloquence has been far more signally
di splayed in Congressional debate than elsewhere.
'l'hi:; 'ms tho arena in 'd1ich Cla.y and W cbstcr, Cal-

POLITICAL ORATORY.

153

houn, Hayne, McDuffie, Berrien, and a host of worthy
peers, triumphed. It was in our Congress that the
memorable word-encounter between 'N ebster and
Hayne took place, and left us specimens of eloquence
unrivalled in interest if not unequalled in power, in
the English language.
The qualifications and duties which should be
required of a public debater, holding office as a legislator, cannot be better given than in the motto of
the coat of arms of one of the states of our Union:
Wisdom, Justice, and Jlfoderation.
The end aimed at should not be party success and ·
party aggrandizement, but Truth; the modes of ·
attaining these ends should be strictly Just; and above
all, the legislators should have that prudence, deliberation, an<l courtesy, which all bear a part in the
excellent quality called Moderation.
Attention to these simple directions would save us
from party rancour; from bribery, and dishonourable .
dealing among our legislators, and from personal conflicts on the floors of Congress.
The Constitution has taken proper steps to insure
such results, and the laws have declared that no person shall be held answerable, out of either house, for
words uttered within their walls. And yet so great
are the temptations which beset men in public stations that truth, justice, and moderation are very

155

llllE'l'ORIC.

SACRED ORATORY.

frequently lost sight of, the Constitution dishonoured,
and the laws violated with reckless disregard.

stubborn will, and press home to the slumbering
conscience, the truths to which the inte11ect already
assents. Most sermons partake of both characters;
after explaining the text, they apply it to those
present.
It may well be feared that in modern times a .habit
has arisen of writing, instead of sermons properly so
called, finished orations, in which the preacher is in
danger of being set forth, quite as much, if not more
than his holy theme. The art of the preacher, if
there be any art allowed 'in so holy a place, is to
keep himself back, and let liis divine subject press
forward to do its glorious work. · Sermons may be
written or extemporaneous: but in the latter case
the subject is supposed to be carefully studied and
arranged in the mind, and the preacher depends
upon the occasion only for the words, and a few inspiring incidents.
A Homily, from the Greek verb, oµ.i'Arn, to converse
in company, implies a sermon of a plainer and humbler kind, conveying simple instruction, capable of
being understood by the lowest among the people.
'.I.1he subjects of the homily are of the most elementary
character; setting forth the first "principles of the
doctrine of Christ." Thus the "Book of Homilies,"
of the English Church, is a collection of plain discourses, which were prepared by authority, at the
time of the English Reformation, to be read by the

154

(4 6.) Sacred 0 ratory.
'l1he third and last division of this branch of our
subject is Sacred Oratory, and this we have said
includes Sermons, I1omilies, and Expository Lectures; to all of which we attach the idea of Christian
teaching.
A Sermon is derived from the Latin word senna,
common discourse or speech; but, more remotely,
from sero, to throw or cast, like seed; and doubtless,
in its present form, it retains some allusion to the
good seed of Christianity, sown by the disciples of
Christ. A Sermon is a serious public Christian discourse, then, delivered, commonly in a church, by a
person licensed and authorized to teach the momentous truths of the Gospel, and is usually founded upon
some portion of the canonical Scripture, wluch is
called a text.
Sermons are expository and ex!wrtatory. An expository discourse is one which is designed to e:rplrtin
clearly, to the comprehension of the audience, the
meaning of the portion of Scripture taken as the text.
An e:dwrtatory Sermon is one which takes for
granted that the audience understand the Scripture
1p10tcll; its design, therefore, is to persuade the

HHETORIC.

inferior clergy, who were not sufficiently educated to
prepare their own sermons.
Partaking of the nature both of homily and sermon, are expository lectures, common among many
denominations of Christians, and specially designed
to explain the Bible in regular course. These arc
more informal than sermons, aml do not usually form
a part of the Sunday services of the church. 11 he
character of a sermon should depend in some measure
upon the audience and the occasion. ~I1he number and
nature of the ornaments, ·and the illustrations; the
trains of argument, and the general application, would
differ essentially for congregations differing in intellectual culture. In general it may be said that sermons should be very simple and plain, because in
most congregations there are many ignorant people;
and it may be feared that many a preacher, in military phrase, "shoots over the heads" of his people.
In proper hands these various kinds of sacred discourse are instruments of mightiest power, turning
the hearts of men, awakening their consciences, and
leading them "to newn ess of life;" by their instrumentality, in grea.t measure, it would seem, God designs to Christianize the world.
Among many excellent Christian sermons, none
are so good as those contained in the New 1'estament, with which we are all familiar.
Christ's Sermon on tlte JJ.f ount is beyollll colllpari-

SACRED ORATORY.

157

son the best; the happiest proof to us that he was
both God and man. The sermon of St. Stephen, the
first martyr, which surveyed the history of Christianity in electric glances, from the days of Abraham to the time of his own death, is a masterly
discourse. The sermons of St. Peter at Pentecost
'
and in Solomon's Porch, after healing the lame man,
as recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, are models
of Christian sermons; St. Paul's splendid discourse on
Mars Hill at Athens, is greater than any oration of
Demosthenes himself; and his sermon afterwards at
Lystra, was so powerful that th~y would have done
worship and sacrifice to his inspired eloquence, believing him to be a god. Christian ministers have
the finest models before them in the Bible.
The sermons of Bossuet, Bourdaloue, Massillon,
Bridaine, and other French divines, in the days of
Louis XIV., are examples of the finest displays of
eloquent piety, in a day of loose and uncontrolled
morals. They are not of a controversial nature but
' '
like the. apostle, they reason of "righteousness, temperance, and judgment." Hooker, Barrow, Jeremy
Taylor, Leighton, Robert Hall, Whitefield, Horsley,
are among the great names of illustrious English
divines, distinguished for their eloquent and convincing sermons. Nor is America wanting in a full and
brilliant representation, in this honoured department
of our literature. Indeed, the American clergy con14

158

lllIETOlUC.

stitute a very large and respectable number of American literati, arc among the finest of American
orators, and adorn, by their high moral and religious
tone, the communities in which they reside. Among
so many eloquent preachers in our own day, it would
be invidious to mention the few for whose names we
might find room.
In a later chapter some general remarks will be
made upon the kinds of style and the general manner of treating these various kinds of discourse.
Our next step is to consider written discourse, as
contradistinguished from all kinds of oratory,-evcn
though the oratorical discourse be written out bcforchand,-in that it is not designed to be read to an audience with the voice, but by a reader with his eye.

WRIT'rEN DISCOUltSE.

159

CHAPTER VI.
OF THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF WRITTEN DISCOURSE.

(4 7.) Of Letters.
FrnsT among the kinds of written discourse we
have enumerated Epistolary writing, or letters, which,
if we may use the phrase, is the mo~of
them all. To write a letter is but one~om
holding a conversation with a person ; and generally
the subjects of a letter, and our treatment of them,
are very much what we would say, and very much
the manner we should use in saying it to the person
himself were he present. After oratory, it approaches
most nearly a personal address.
Letter writing enters so largely into all the affairs
of life, that it constitutes by far the greatest amount
of written discourse.
~I.1here are as many kinds of letters as there are

forms of association, or relation, domestic, social,
civic, or official; and each peculiar circumstance will
dictate the character and manner of the letter · thus
'
'
in letters of business, or official letters, the design of

HIO

llII ETORIC.

LETTERS.

tho writer is to express himself firmly, clearly, and
concisely: to introduce nothing episodical, or foreign
to the subject; an<l, above all, to be brief; remembering that busy men have not time to road long letters.
Letters of f1·iendship, on tho contrary, arc kiml,
tender, diffuse, and gossipping. They shouhl be of
the kind referred to by Cowper, when ho says he

II. All letters should e carefully ritten. A
habit is not uncommon, among
4V o write carefully on all other subjects, of slighting their letters;
of making the subject-matter unintelligible and
slovenly; of neglecting the date, and address; of
putting no punctuation marks except daslies, which
mean nothing; and of writing in a band almost or
quite illegible. All this is wrong, and can very easily
be avoided.

like talking etters.
L~ ers of a high civic or official character, such
as those that pass between ambassadors, or ministers
of state, should be formal, grave, and particularly
courteous; for it is as though two nations, through
their ambassadors, wore holding converse by this
means, and all the pomp and circumstance · of national glory are concerned in the ceremony and tho
result.
irections on the subject of letter-

writing may not be amiss.
I. All proper letters s 10uld be answered as soon as
received. Attention to this caution would have saved
many persons a great deal of discomfort, i·egret, anJ
loss. Although no part of Rhetoric, the caution will
be pardoned on account of its practical use; und,
indeed, the rhetorical character of the answer depends somewhat upon the freshness of the impression
made by the letter upon the mind; and the freshness
is entirely lost by delay.

161

III. Say exactly what you mean without circumlocution or affectation. Many persons write letters
as though they were writing a novel or a history;
pitching them in too high a key for the occasion and
the subject; such are the sentimental letters, written
in the romantic periods of life, and under fanciful
rather than real influences.
But, it is evident, the form of a letter may be used
to present any subject to the public. Sometimes such
a communication is addressed to the editor of a newspaper; sometimes to the public in pamphlet form;
and sometimes to some scientific body ; but, besides
the mere form, these have nothing of the letter about
them, and might as well be put in the shape of essays
or disquisitions.
Of this nature also are military or naval despatches,
the design of which is to describe the movements of
an army or corps, or of a fleet of ships; but which
14*

L

1G2

RHETORIC.

are addressed to the secretary of war or the navy.
Candidates for public office address their peculiar
views to the public also in letter form.
By means of the letters of great men, and particularly of men grea.t in literature, published after their
death, we are enabled to see them as they really
were, and as they could have had no expectation of
being presented to the world; thus letters constitute
the best material for biography, and are in themselves
the best portrait of the writer, giving us the exact
traits of character which the biographer might overlook, or fail faith~ully to transfer; but which the
writer himself has uttered "out of the fulness of the
heart."
The letters of Cowper, witty, poetical, tender, but
very sad at times, are such a faithful index to his
pure but unhappy life. 'rhose of Sterne show us his
easy, careless, and unclerical career, more fully than
his works or his autobiography. Indeed, the characters of most ~ men have been portrayed most
faithfully by means of their letters.
Among the most charming lettefS are those of
Madame de Sevigne. 1.1he letter-form is often used
to embody political instruction, or to convey political
satire and rebuke. A remarkable example of this is
found in the Persian Lettets (Lettres Persanes) of
Montesquieu.

HISTORY.

- ----

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163

(48.) History.
Next in the order of written discourse we consider
History, which, in its comprehensive acceptation, may
be defined tlte Narrative of Man's social life. Those
who would limit it to being the Record of past events,
would trammel the philosopher, who uses history somewhat in the light of prophecy; who regards it as constantly going on around us, and as determining, to a
certain extent, from what ltas been and is, what is to be.
History, which thus claims to tell all that is known
of man, and all that can be predicted by human
means, has been called Sc~entia Scientiarum; the
Science of Sciences : it is consequently the most
important of the forms of written discourse; and,
were it rightly written, would conduce greatly to the
benefit of mankind.
There are various degrees of the value of history,
according to its philosophy. Thus, the historian may
only choose to give a faithful narrative of the fact~
which his research has discovered, and to leave the
reader to combine them, and draw his own conclusions. Or he may describe the great men, the battles,
the sieges, the treaties, the courts, and lose sight of
the condition of the people, who form really the subject of history. His narrative may be current, interesting, and entei'taining; in its effect, not unlike
the rapid journey through just such scenes, if they

RHETORIC.

HISTORY.

were really existing. But these constitute the lowest
kind of historical writing, called in former times
Chronicles.
Philosophical history seeks to :find the relations of
cause and effect; not only in a single community or
kingdom, a.nd in a. single period; but the rcla.tions of
communities ancl kingdoms to each other and to the
whole world; and of single periods to the entire
chronology, ancient and modern. 'rhus History,
armed with divine philosophy, has taught us that
Christianity is the great fact in this world of ours,
shooting its rays back to the fall of man, and forward to the day of millennia.I glory; and that pure
democracy-the freedom, purity, and happiness of
the individual citizen-is the great possibility which
we are approximating, and should strive to a.ttain.
History deals with pure truth ; it seeks to know
only "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth." It is true that History has been shamefully perverted; that it has become the tool of party,
a.nd the organ of false panegyric ; that it has received
bribes from grea.tness, and has been blinded by flattery; and, worse than a.II, because most difficult of
correction, that it has been eminently subj ective
rather than obj ective, giving us the prejudices and
distortions of the writer instead of the truth. Lord
Bacon's idols of the tribe and oftlie den are the bane of
History. Thus, almost a.II history is one-sided. Hurne

gives us the aristocratic and tory view of English·
History; Gibbon the infidel view of Europe; Mitford the extreme aristocracy of Greece ; Lingard the
Roman Catholic view of England; and, Macaulay,
pictures painted in most artificial colours, and placed
in false and glaring lights. In one of his essays on
History, Mr. Macaulay has inadvertently placed the
sentence of his own condemnation. "This practice,''
he says, "of painting in nothing but black and white,
is unpardonable even in the drama, but in history
this error is far more disgraceful. Indeed, there is
no fault which so completely ruins a narrative in the
opinion of a judicious reader." And yet this is th8
historian who has drawn for us the pictures of William of Orange, Marlborough, and William Penn!
No man need aspire to be a historian unless he .so
please, but every self-appointed historian renders
himself amenable to certain invariable laws, which
we shall now lay down.
I. He must be faithful in his study and research.
We depend upon him for the truth, and he ought
to give us nothing but the truth. He should not
exaggerate, either as to the facts themselves, nor by
the lights in which they are placed, like the picture.
painting just referred to. He should take no facts
at second hand where the original source is within
reach: sad mistakes have grown out of such a course,
and great wrong has been done to the heroes of his-

Hi4

1G5

RIIETOHIC.

HISTORY.

tory. Patient, honest, faithful research is his first
duty.
II. He must make a clear arrangement of these
facts, a luminous order of events, so that we may
pass from one to the other easily, and ourselves
judge of their philosophy, or rather jULlgc of his
philosophic summary; for tho hi storian should in
every case sum up the evidence and state the jULlgment.
III. He must be entirely impartial, unswaycd by
friendship, prejudice, reverence; single-eyed to . the
truth alone.
IV. He must write in a pleasing and good style.
His language must be well chosen; the ornaments,
of which History do es not admit very many, must be
choice and striking ; and the finished form of his
work must be symmetrical, easy of reference, and
complete in all its parts.
A very good resume of the requisites for a historian is to be found in the words of an English critic.*
"His learning should be greater than his genius, and
his J udgment stronger than his imagination. In private life he should have the character of being free
from party, and his former writings ought always to
have shown the sincerest attachment to truth. I ask

several questions: who the historian is? of what
country? of what principles? For it is impossible
but that his private opinions will almost involuntarily
work themselves into his public performances. His
style, also, should be clear, elegant, and nervous. And,
lastly, to give him a just boldness of sentiment and
expression, he should have a consci<rnsness of these
his superior abilities."
Nothing need be added to these judicious remarks;
but that American literature boasts of names that
have come nearer to such an endowment of faculties
and qualities than those of any other country. This
is due, in a great · measure, to our free institutions,
and to the fact that most of our historians have taken
subjects quite above the turmoil of our own P3'.rty
politics, and look with great equanimity and moderation at the factious parties of other countries, of
whose doings they have undertaken to write. Prescott, Bancroft, Motley, Hildreth, have written works
of very general interest, . on the history of foreig~
countries as well as upon our own; and many eminent
and distinguished gentlemen have produced, under
the auspices of our Historical societies, histories or
historical papers of a local but interesting nature.
It should be remarked, that the present age is eminently in advance of all former periods, in historical
writings.
N cw and valuable material has been
brought to light, and such researches have been

HiG

0

<i:· Bayle, as quoted by Goldsmith, in 11is l'eview of Smollctl's
IIist.ol'y of England, in the" l\£onthly Ucvicw."

167

-~

168

DIOGRAPIIY.

IUIETOHIC.

made as to demonstrate the great faults and falsity
of much of the former history. With these views of
a historian's _duty, we shall not be inclined to undervalue the talents which constitute a great historian.
The world numbers but few such, and has accorded
a lasting fame to all who approach the standard of
excellence and power just laid down.

(49.) Biog1·apliy.
This word, from the Greek, Bto5, life, and 'YP(l,<Pw, to
w1·ite, means a sketch of the life of an individual.
Biog1·ap!ty is a very important branch of History;
for since history is the record of the actions of men,
the men who perform these actions must be presented
and described, and thus history is full of biographical
pictures, or sketches of illustrious men. But in history they are mainly presented on account of the
great events in which they participated.
Bi'ograpliy proper has as its subject not the events
in which the subject of the sketch has shared, so
much as himself,-his own personality. Here history
is made secondary to the course of the actor's life.
If a person write his own life, that is called an autobiography, and alth~ugh not always free from prejudice,-as this prejudice can be generally allowed
for,-an autobiography is very valuable.
The qualities which should distinguish a biograpli er

~

-· ···-"

---~ ~~-

,

--

,. . .~""··

-.
_ -::.~--..._-::--=-=--::_

169

are very much the same as those which constitute a.
historian. He should be Just; letting no prejudices
blind him to the merits of bis subject, or, what is far
more to be feared, _letting no feeling of friendship
lead to undue praise or false representations. The
task then, it is manifest, is a difficult one. A biographer may choose to present fairly the good qualities
of the person of whom be writes; and to throw a
veil over the evil : saying-" this is a part of the
subject upon which we prefer not to touch,"-thus
leaving to the mind of the reader to draw a just
inference that faults and errors of a grievous kind
are charitably omitted. Thus much cannot be regarded as improper benevolence. But the habit, by
no means uncommon, of concealing the defects of a
great man ; of destroying or suppressing letters
which display him in a fearfully evil light, and of
making him appear only good, when he is known to
have been evil, is to be deplored on many accounts;
but principally because of the evil effects upon
society. The world generally knows enough t_o be
sure that the truth is masked, and that to a great
extent; and the young, who read for example, look
upon that evil of which so little is made, as quite
venial and unimportant.
The request of Othello, just before his suicide, is
the just rule of the biographer:15

170

HIIE'l'OJU C.

BIOGRAPHY.

" - - I pray you, in your lellers,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relale,
Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice."

tial. As excellent illustrations of biographical writing we have, in modern times, Jared Sparks's "Lives
of Washington and Franklin," and Irving's "Biography of Washington." Johnson's "Lives of the
Poets " and Boswell's "Life of Johnson," are ex'
amples of prominent biographies written in the last
century. One of the most faithful biographies within
our knowledge is the "Life of Sir Walter Scott," by
his son-in-law, Lockhart. Moore's " Life of Byron"
is one of those unjust and garbled biographies referred to, in which Lord Byron is made to appear far
better than the materials w.hich Mr. Moore had · in
his possession would have shown him to be, had they
been fait~fully used.
·
And Lord John Russell, in his publication of the
Letters of Moore,-designed to create a fund for the
poet's wife,-has erred in the same manner, by leaving the impression upon the reader's mind that the
garbled journal and the selected letters present a true
portrait of the modern Anacreon.
As biographies are generally written by friends,
the error is almost always in the bestowal of undue
praise, and the withholding of deserved censure. It
has become a custom, within a late period, to prefix
a short biography or life to new editions of the standard poets and writers of prose literature. These are
generally executed with more justice than other
biographies ; because criticism has already done its

It is only in this way that the life of a particular
person is of value to the rea<ler, as a model for imitation, or an example of what is to be avoided.
The biography of a great man-one who has occupied a very large space in the historic world-so that,
in describing his life, one must also relate much of
the contemporary history,-we call, more properly,
A History. ~l1lrns, we speak of Scott's "History of
Napoleon;" Carlyle's "History of Frederick the
Great;" Voltaire's "I1istory of Charles XII."
The style in which a biography should be written,
is an easy narrative style; connecting gracefully the
events of the life before us. There is little room for
elegance and ornament; and, above all, that picture
painting, to which reference has already been rnado
upon the topic of history, should be carefully avoided;
or indulged in with the most j ealous care in choosing
the just colours for the portrait.
Biographies of a partial or fragmentary character~
and of minor importance, are often called niemoirs,
and sometimes lives, a title subject to less misconception ; and these should be subjected to tho same
critical laws as biographies of more importance; they
may be more des ultory, but should be purely impar-

171

173

IUIETORIC.

PROSE FICTION.

work with the author's life and fame, and the truth
alone will pass current.

periodically addressed to the public, giving, as it were,
only a partial glimpse of its subject; often not promising more; desultory in its arrangements, but novel
and suggestive in its statements.
"'What are called newspaper leaders, and editorials,
are the most modern form of essay, and these, from
their excellence and point, often verify the truth of
Addison's assertion, that it is more difficult to write
a series of essays-each of which is the germ . of a
volume-than a whole volume on some given subject.
There are minds of high order, best suited, however;
to this kind of writing; and many a good essayist
would make but a poor volume on a single subject.
The style of the essay should be easy and natu
ral ; but occasional ornaments are allowable, and wit
and humour may very properly be introduced, to give
point and interest to the subject.
'rirn word essay has been likewise very properly
applied to the stated college and school compo~itions,
which are short, partial, and suggestive.

(50.) Essays.
Among the most numerous of the shorter and occasional kinds of writing are essays, which, from the
French verb, essayer, to try, means only experimental
compositions, not pretending to the dignity of a higher
order, and thus deprecating harsh criticism. They
are of the nature of isolated thoughts, written out
exactly as they come into the mind. This was, at
least, its original use ; and it has been said that it
was first employed, in this meaning, by Lord Ilacon,
in dedicating a volume of short pieces, which he called
essays, to Prince Henry, the elder brother of Charles
I. of Englantl.
A recent writer has justly observed that no better
illustration of the word, in its more modern use, can
be found than in those essays of Ilacon, since well
known and appreciated for their sound learning, good
judgment, and profound thought. They remain the
originals, and still the models of essays.
After Ilacon; in the use of his word, were the wellknown English ·Essayists, Addison, Steele, Dr. Johnson, Goldsmith',
others, whose works appeared in
the Spectator, Tatler, Rambler, and similar papers.
Under their hands, the Essay became a composition

anJ.

(51.) Prose Fictimi.
Prose fiction implies that kind of writing which
presents fictitious or unreal things as though they
really existed; creating personages who never existed, and relating a chain of events which never
happened ; M though both were real. As the design
15

*

RHETORIC.

PROSE FICTION.

of fiction 1s to instruct by example, the characters
drawn must be so life-like as to call for our sympathy
in their adventures and trials; and the events and
circumstances must also be true to nature. The plot
or combination of these, however, should be entirely
original. Prose fiction includes works of many names,
differing, some of them, but slightly from each other.
'rhey may all be classed under the following heads :
the Romance, the Novel, the Fable, the Tale, and the
Story.
· By the Romance is meant a fictitious story of wonderful adventures, such as were incident to the days
and customs of knight-errantry. The romance received its name from the fact that the story-tellers of
that day used, mainly, the Romanz language of the
Mediterranean. It is usually a tale of love and war
of an extravagant character, and designed to awaken
violent emotions, which, hy this same etymol.?gy, have
been called Romantic. 'l1he word, however, 'has often
been used in a less exact and more general meaning,
and has thus been confounded with the novel, a word
of more modern application.
The Novel, originally meaning only something new,
has now become the name of a talc founded upon
some modern incident in history or ordinary life, and
intended to portray the operation of the passions,
and particularly of Joye: there is always a hero and
a heroine, and the plot turns upon their fortunes ;

ending usually with a happy and easily anticipated
marriage.

IH

175

· The Fable, which has been traced back through
the Latin, Fabula, to the obsolete Greek verb Enc.>
' or'
to speak, meant originally only something spoken
told.
The design of the Fable is to enforce some useful
precept. In the fable there is usually no illusion :
animals are made to talk, and to cover by their speech
the '\visdom of the moral designed.
The Tale and the Story are very much the same
in their modern use.

Tale is from the Saxon verb, tellan, and the English tell, and only means something told; so that
although a tale is often used to express a fictitious
narrative, it does not necessarily imply this. One
of Swift's allegories is called the "Tale of a Tub·"
'
and we have also Marmontel's French Tales to illustrates the use of the word. The Scotch saying, "An
ower true tale,,, expresses both uses of the word the
'
one directly, and the other by implication.
Story is only a contraction of Mstory, and is used
in rather an undefined sense, meaning sometimes a
true aqcount, sometimes a fictitious narrative, and
sometimes a falsehood.
The words tale and story, when expressing a fictitious narrative, imply a short and unpretending effort,
written without preparation, and with no careful

-- IIG

ltlIETOIUC.

arrangement of the events. There can be no doubt
that it requires genius of a very high order to compose fiction well. The novelist must create individual
characters, who are to seem like life, and to live in
our memory as friends, often met a,ml well cherished;
he must also establish such positions for theso, and
such relations between them, as will strike the reader
as natural and interesting.
And while he must draw largely from nature for
all this, he must no more be a simple copyist of nature than the great painter is so. His picture is a
creative composition, unlike anything that ever existed
as a whole, and yet in all its parts natural, attractive, and constantly developing new thoughts. In the
art of painter and novelist alike, what is called the
composition must be original, and is the work of a
creative genius.
To nature he must go for the traits of real life,
which he is, with the hand of genius, to combine.
The remark has often been made, that "truth is
stranger than fiction." It is further true, that the
most striking fictitious pictures must be made up of
truth. In the words of an American writer: "The
tones of rapturous or agonized human sympathy, tenderness, love, pity, the gentle voices of kindness that
echo from the familiar hearthstone, the accents in
which a mother speaks to her suffering child, surpass all that' fancy can imagine or the stage exhibit.

PltOSE FICTION.

177

And no fictitious heroism is more noble than that
which swells many a heart in the secret and solitary
strife of virtue. And all the sentimental descriptions in the world are but cold rhapsody in comparison
with what is actually witnessed · and felt in the daily
communion of heart with heart."
The chivalric period, in which almost every long
fiction partook of the character of the times of
chivalry, and was of the nature of the !f-omance, lasted,
as far as fiction itself was concerned, almost without
an exception until the middle of the eighteenth century, when the modern novel had its origin in · the
works of Richardson, Fielding, Smollett, and others.
This was a great change in prose fiCtion. These novels
are portraitures of men and things of the very time
in which they appeared, and so true to English life
are the descriptions of persons, customs, and scenery,
as to verify positively the assertion of Macaulay, that
:c the history of nations is often best studied in works
not professedly historical." The modern novelists
just mentioned have been profound, if unconscious
historians.
The early Romance was poetical in its form, and
was very unlike the more modern 'vorks bearing that
title; thus, we have the Romance of the Rose (Roman de la Rose), translated by Chaucer into English.
Also, the Anglo-Norman romance Le Brut, founded
on the historic chronicle . of Geoffrey of Morimouth.
M

178

179

RHETORIC.

PROSE FICTION.

Later we have Italian Romances m prose; co1111c
and satirical Bomances, of which Don Quixote may
be taken as the best illustration, Pastoral roman ces,
and Heroic romances, coming down to the time of the
modern novel in the middle of the last century. llut
after Richardson and Fielding had opcncll the way
to the fresh and vivid portraitures of modern life, the
old and artificial sank into disrepute, and though
attempts were made by vValpole, Mrs. Radcliffe, and
their school, to bring back the old Romance, the success was small, and they may be fairly considered as
among the things that were.
Of modern novels we have a great number, of
various value. They are so well known, that we
need mention only a few. Sir Walter Scott's ·waverley series are justly esteemed for their vivid portraiture of historical events and personages, combining
the labours of the historian with the genius of the
novelist; and Dickens has furnished a large number
of most interesting novels, which unite to the mere
interest due to the fiction, valorous attacks upon systems and institutions of an evil character in England.
In more than one instance his satires have been efficacious in producing reform.
Cooper's novels give striking and natural pictures
of life among our forests and their Indian tenants,
a generation now passing away; and of life at sea,
in all its varieties, from the cabin of a man-of-war

to hard work before the mast. Indeed, when we consider the highly drawn pictures, and loose language
of the novels writte1~ a century ago, it cannot be
doubted that prose fiction has very greatly improved
in our <lay, and that it has become a much better
school of morals in its examples and its teachings.
In concluding these remarks upon the various
forms of discourse, it must be observed that the rules
of rhetorical invention apply to them all, and that
their expression in language is governed by the same
general laws; with the exception of poetry, which, in
its metre and versification, is constructed according to
the laws of Prosody, one of the branches of Grammar. Thus, in form, Poetry is not strictly included
in Rhetoric.
Bearing this in mind, we come, at length, to consider the methods of constructing the general form of
discourse, which has thus been divided into particular
varieties, and of presenting this discourse to others.
The processes now to be explained include every
step in the preparation of a discourse; from the -first
conception of its subject or theme to .its absolute
delivery, or other public expression, to a · hearer or
reader.
Having thus presented to the student the range
and scope of discourse in its numerous varieties, we
are prepared to enter upon this new and most important inquiry.

22911£

180

IUIETOIUC.

CJIAP'l1Elt VII.
INVENTION.

vVE come now, after a due consideration 0f the
history and derived meaning of Rhetoric, after explaining its r.elations to .l:Esthetics, and after describing the various forms of discourse constructed by its
means, to an examination of its functions, in this
process of construction-i. e., to a division of labour
in the act of building up a discourse.
These functions have been reduced, by modern
rhetoricians, to three; and have been named: I. INVENTION.
II. ARRANGEMENT. III. STYLE. '.l'he
philosophy of this gen eral division has been already
explained. To illustrate the methods of their use,
let the subJect of the discourse be presented to the
writer, as
Man is mortal.
He must first invent, that is, find arguments arnl
display facts in proof of this assertion, and fairly
express the moral and domestic lessons growing out
of such a momentous assertion, with such other important considerations as may occur to his mind.

INVENTION.

181

Second. He must ar1·ange these arguments and
facts, in the order best suited to accomplish his purpose; must see that the links in the chain of reasoning
are clearly connected; in a word, that the thoughts,
which he has invented, are clearly, concisely, and
properly connected. ·
.
'Third. These fruits of his invention, and the methods of his arrangement, must be clearly and appropriately set forth in language. This is the peculiar
function of that division of Rhetoric called STYLE.
It hardly need be remarked, that . although these
divisions of Rhetoric . are quite . distinct from each
other, so that each process is really independent of
the others, yet their combination alone produces any
true rhetorical result, so that, for a public manifestation, they may be said to depend upon each other for
existence. rnrns, we may invent, or collect all the
necessary material for constructing the discourse, and
we may in our minds arrange all the parts of the fair
structure, to no purpose, at least, in the instruction of.
others,-which is the primary design of discourse,if we give no utterance to our thoughts in style.
And what would style or the mere expression in language be, even the readiest resources of speech,
with all its forces, and its ornaments, if we had no
subfect-matter of discourse invented, and no arrangement of the crude materials lying around, which we
had produced by our invention?
16

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182

lUIETOlUC.

And here, before going farther, let us recall one
portion of the remark of Dr. Campbell, which has
been already mentioned, viz., that "Rhetoric holds
of Logic by the sense." This finds its truth in tho
·Invention of Discourse, for the invention implies the
finding of Logical propositions and arguments containing and enforcing the thoughts which we have
prepared : in other words, all the operations of the
reason.
We shall especially attempt, in this, which is confessedly the most difficult part of Rhetoric, to render the .study as simple as possible. Particularly is
it important to rid ourselves, as much as we can,
of the great number of technical words which formed
the rhetorical nomenclature of the ancients, and
lrnve been brought down, undiminished in number,
and useless from the change which has taken place
in science and its classificntion, to modern times.
~I1hey are more difficult than the things for which they
stand, and modern usage expresses their meaning in
simpler and better words. The "naming of our tools,"
in the satirical words of IIuclibras, is by no means
so important as to know how to use them; and such
changes have happened to Rhetoric since the dnys of
classic nomenclature, that both names and instrnments are entirely changed.
1-Vhen it is designed to construct a discourse, the
genernl nature of whose subject is understood, t11c

1'IIE INVENTION OF THE SUBJECT.

183

first thing to be done is to ponder upon that general
and perhaps vague subject, until it resolve itself into
distinct shape, and assume a distinct and developing
character. By developing characte1· is meant, one
readily admitting of analysis, by which we may arrive
at new facts, proofs of these facts, and prominent
results of these facts. By a strange but invariable
process, the mind, in thus dwelling upon a general
subject, finds the nebulous particles of thought aggregating themselves into symmetrical forms, and shaping
themselves into beautiful and instructive discourse.
Let us then consider the subject as the germ of discourse.

(52.) The l1~vention of the SubJect.
In the choice of the subject of a discourse, invention plays its first and important part, and here much
of the difficulty and confusion of writing compositions have their source; by a want of the proper
understanding of the subject. The subject is to be.
chosen with reference to the object or design of the
discourse; it is to contain in itself, perhaps, a new
conception, the germ of the future discourse ; and it
is to attract by its name and appearance the interests
of many in the discourse itself. There are many
persons who have a special talent in selecting, or more
properly in inventing subjects.
And here it should be observed, in some cases the

185

RIIETOIUC.

THE INVENTION OF THE SUllJECT.

subject is already chosen for the writer, an<l his Invention is taxed only in treating it: such is the case
in courts of law, in congressional debates, in competing for prize essays in academies and colleges ;
but even in these cases some scope is allowed, and
very much depends upon the peculiar light in which
the author places the given subject. ~l1hus the topics
in courts of law are of a wide and general scope;
and he who states the case most plainly before proceeding to the discussion of it, shows the best invention in this respect.
Such, too, is the fact with regard to the questions
brought before legislative bodies; the general topic
indeed is known to the house, but some one has
invented it, and it will always bear a statement in
new and original words. In many cases the subject
of a prize essay, or any other given topic, requires
narrowing within better defined limits. But tho
subjects of great epics and dramas; of histories; of
orations; . of sermons; of prose fiction, are all to be
chosen, and in their choice a fine invention may be
displayed.
And this brings us to the remark that what arc
ordinarily called subJects of a wide scope, or fertile
subJects, are the most difficult to treat, and offer the
worst practice for our invention. Subjects upon
which we can generalize, and range at large, lead
to desultory and superficial compositions, lacking

unity and symmetry ; while more restricted · sub:.
jects, confining the mind rigorously to the consideration of a single and · distinct theme, give us
the earnest of compact, vigorous, and satisfactory
discourse. · The theme in question is sure to be
thoroughly handled, and our impressions of it to be
clear and just. Like the painter or sculptor, the
author may then display a fine invention in the choice
and clear expression of his subject. And the author
who would choose a poor, barren, unsatisfactory subject, would be as foolish as the painter who should
reject the picturesque for the gloomy, or the sculptor
who should seek harsh and · angular models, instead
of those with the lines of grace and ' beauty. So,
also the author who chooses too wide a theme is not
' compared to the artist who chooses too large
inaptly
an angle for his picture, and thus violates the first

184

law of pictorial composition.
A single glance at the great works of English
Literature will prove the originality of Invention in
the subject of the discourse.
The title or subject of Milton's poem, "Paradise
Lost," conveys a world of thought, because it implies
at once Paradise originally possessed, enjoyed, ·sincurst, and lost. It is so in foreign Epics of great
renown. Tasso's "J crusalem Delivered" points to
J erusalern once enslaved and oppressed, and suggests
lG ·X·

•
186

RHETORIC.

THE INVENTION OF THE SUBJECT.

the mighty and daring deeds of the crusaders, Ly
whom it was delivered.
And thus, in the choice of Historic periods and
personages, the Historian invents his subject; in the
presentation of a striking theme or incident tho novelist invents his; and the essayist states, in pithy and
attractive words, a caption to his short discourse.
In every discourse, it should bo observed, there
ought to be but one prominent subject, or th eme, to
which all other parts of it are subordinate and explanatory; and it is further manifest that the nature
of this theme will be in some sort dependent upon
the object of the discourse, or, in other words, upon
the effects whiph we design to produce by it. This,
then, constitutes the ~mity of a discourse, by which
invention must be governed,-the single subject to be
developed, in ord er that the single object may be pursued and attain ed.

These are fully treated of in the subject of Logic;
and here it will ·be only necessary to explain the
general difference between them.
A T erm is a single object of apprehension expressed
in language; as man, house, city.
A Proposition is the comparison of two terms, to
see whether they agree or disagree, thus :-John is a
hero, or, John is not a hero; in which we compare
the terms, John and hero; in the first, asserting their
agreement, and .in the second their disagreement.
The first term in a proposition, as Jolin, is called the
subject; the second; as hero, the predicate.
An Arguntent is · the combination of two propositions, which bear a certain relation to each other, and
the deduction of a third proposition from these two.
Thus-

~ro

th e object of tho discourse we shall recur directly; before doing so, however, it seems important
to guard students against errors into which th ey may
fall in the choice of subjects, or in und erstanding
those which may be given to them ; for the word subj ect has been very vag uely used.
And the elucidation of this sulJject brings us to a
few plain remarks upon the logical distin ction of
terms, propositions, and arguments, as th ey arc use d
in Rhetoric.

187

1. All men are animals ;
2. All Hindoos are men;
Therefore 3. All iiindoos are animals;

In which the first and · second propositions are called
premisses, and the third the conclusion. The conclusion grows naturally out of the combined premisses.
The first proposition is called the major premiss, and
the second the minor premiss. With these explanations let us recur to the subJ'ect of a discourse. Is it
a term or a proposition ?
Suppose, for exampl e, the Subject presented to a
student, upon which he is required to write, be

Hll E'l'OllIC.

TIIE ODJECT OF DISCOU RSE.

Youth. 'I1lrn question at once arises, ·what is this ?
is it what it seems to be, a term, ? If so, it is not
a subject at all, until the student use it in inventing
a proposition, of which it is the subject; until he prqdicate something of it, as for instance: Youth is tlte
time for education. Ile re, then, we have a subject in
the form of a proposition: thus much at least has
been the invention of the student; he might have
made a different invention. He might have saidYouth is the time f or pleas-ure or the period of hope;
or he might have propoun<lcd nn inquiry: ]{ow
should youth be spent .fl and, in each case, the invention would be different. Thus, a term is only a step
towards the invention of the true subject of discourse.
But having invented the Subject, what are the
next steps of the writer's invention? Manifestly to
invent arguments to prove the assertion contained in
the subject; and this has to do with the object of the
<liscourse.
It may be well to state, again, that a great deal of
the vagueness, the trouble, an<l the discomfort of
writing compositions, arises from the want of welldefined subjects. Many young men will confess that
they do not know what to write about, when in reality
they are trying to expand their thoughts over a ran ge
capable of containing hundreds of volumes ; an<l in
almost every case it is because they take tenns, rather
than propositions, fo r their themes. One 'Hites up on

Rome, anothei· upon Carthage, a third upon the Englisli revolution; subjects, the development of which
have been life-labours to distinguished literary men;
and which it is now designed to treat in the space
of three or four · pages; and thus vague, weak, and
puerile essays are the consequence ; whereas, had
some proposition been formed-some special inquiry
propounded, the subject would be narrowed down,
and the obJect more clearly defined.

188

189

(53.) 'Phe Ob}ect of Discourse.
Passing now to the consideration of the object of
discourse, we have already stated it to be in the first
instance Instruction in general ; but, in its subordinate divisions, Conviction and Persuasion.
Some writers have included two other objects, viz.,
Explanation and Excitation; explanation preceding
conviction, and excitation coming before persuasion;
but explanation is manifestly contained in the idea
of discourse itself, as to its instruction, and must be
regarded rather as a means to attain the object than
an object itself; and excitation, or the effect on the
passions, the· swaying the feelings, is also a means of
attaining an object, rather than an object itself of discourse. It is frequently used to produce persuasion,
or a change of will.
Conviction implies the producing belief blJ means

mo

INVENTION.

ltll:ETOIUC.

of argument; anu Persuasion the cltange of the will,
which will lead to a change in action or character;
or will cause us to abandon the course we formerly
pursued. As has been before clearly stated, under
those two general topics all the ol~jcct.q of discourse
may be ranged : the special ob:jects or designs of discourse are very numerous ; in most discourses these
two designs are combined, an<l in all they constitute
the sole objects, viz., to convince and to persuade.
Perhaps there is no better illustration of conviction
and persuasion, as the true objects of discourse, than
is to be found in the Ilible; the aim of which is to
convince men of the truth of their own lost state, and
the way of salvation ; and to persuade them to accept
the offers of mercy and salvation made through the
atonement of Christ.

101

CHAPTER VIII.
OF CO:N'VICTION.

(G4.) The Rhetorical Use of Arguments.
FmsT, then, let us consider Conviction as an object
of discourse.

If, as has been justly stated, · Rhetoric "holds of
Logic by the sense," then, in the attempt to convince
a person of the truth of a subject or p'roposition, the
effort of Rhetorical invention is to find arguments,
as to their sub:ject-rnatter or thought, by which to
prove the given proposition ; and thus, while it is the
province of Logic to apply its forinulre and dictum,
and to Judge of the validity of the arguments 1vhen
found, it is that of Rhetoric to find fitting arguments;
to afrange them in a proper and confirmatory order,
so as to make them of the strongest proof, and by
their means to convince the hearer or reader of the
truth of the propositions laid down at the outset.
And here let it be observed, that as a proposition,
when stated, requires proof, it may be generally considered as embodying an argument. Just as a term

102

IllIETOitIC.

is vague until it be embodied. in a proposition; so
is a proposition disallowed until it be proved, that is,
until it be expanded into an argument.
Now, the proof required may be of different degrees of difficulty, ranging from the intuitive acknowledgment of the proposition to a severe and longcontinued process of induction. But Rhetoric demands of every proposition brought forward that it
be proved.
This consideration of arguments, the most important part of Rhetoric as an art, has been very much
neglected, and in many cases entirely overlooked.. It
is evident that the knowledge on any given subject
used in this kind of invention, and with which the
logical forms of argument arc invested, must be
derived from the different sciences about which we
may write, whether it be Logic, Mathematics, Theology, Law, or any other. For this knowledge Rhetoric is not responsible.
The first step in this process of invention to convince, is the use of terms in the framing of propositions throughout the discourse : these move hand
in hand to form arguments in the later processes.
Then comes the arrangement of arguments, and the
combination of many arguments; so as to form the
body of proof for which we are seeking.
To illustrate this: in its lower process Instruction
begins with the presenting to the learner terms: as,

INVENTION.

193

for instance, we show him what is the sky, and then,
by a card or system of colours arranged upon paper;
what is blue, we have imparted to him two terms, and
are ready now for the next step, which is the framing
of the proposition : the sky is blue; and so for as
many terms as he is able to comprehend. But this
is the most elementary learning; only used, here, for
the sake of illustration.
In general it will be seen that by the ordinary
means of observation, most men have a large number of terms at their disposal, so that this first pro"cess of Instruction will be usually u:pnecessary. · We
may proceed to the second.
The second, then, is in practice really the first and
most important in this process. It has · been justly
called an " Inquiry after propositions ; " which, as we
have seen, concerns the choice of a subject of discourse, and all the subsequent steps of construction.
The forms which a proposition may assume · to a
learner, and with which Rhetoric is immediately concerned, are threefold, and grow out of our investigation of a term. Thus, suppose the term is A, we
shall have : ;.
Question 1. What is A? Answer, A is B . .
''
2. 'Vhy is A, B ?
"
3. What follows from the fact Uiat A is B?

In which the answers to 2 and 3 constitute the
17

N

7

uw

..

DIFFERENT KINDS OF AlWUMENTS.

RIIETOllIC.

194

invention of the discourse, i.

e., of

arguments to con

vmce.
Thus, rot as take the term man, and by the first
question let us reach the familiar example:Man is mortal;
being possessed of both terms, man and mortal. '.l'he
learner is first concerned with the fa ct, which is an
answer to the first question ; secondly, his curiosity
leads him to know why rnan is mortal, thus opening
many questions of natural and revealed religion; and,
thirdly, if man be mortal, and all the causes for that
mortality are d_istinctly present to him, what momentous consequences result from such a fact, springing from such causes.
For the general division of propositions, and of
their logical arrangement, reference must be made to
Grammar and Logic: but there are important questions connected with both that come more directly
within the scope of Rhetoric.

(55.)

OJ the Dijfe1·ent J{inds of Arguments.

Suppose that we have foun<l. certain propositions,
which constitute the subject, and the general heads
or divisions of our discourse; if, now, we consider
the different kin<l.s of arguments, and their adaptation to rhetorical use, we shall find that the logical
divisions of argument are not of service to us ; be-

195

cause Logic divides arguments according to the forrn
simply, as, for example, into regular or irregular;
categorical or hypothetical; full or abridged, &c., all
of which have only a reference to the logical formulre
in which they appear.
Now, since it is the · adaptation of thought to
argument, about which rhetorical invention is concerned, this division is useless, since the same thought
expressed rhetorically may be in any one of these
forms, viz., in a regular or irregulm· argument_, or
it may be fitlly written out or abridged.
Arguments, then, which are only differe~t in form,
al'e not different arguments at all in the intendment
of Rhetoric : as Rhetoric could use all these forms
to arrive at one and the same conclusion.
And, again : if we divide arguments as to the nature of the science upon which they are used, into
moral and demonstrative, for example ; this bas no
reference to llhetoric. This has really to do with
the substance of the distinct propositions under consideration, and not to the nature of the arguments
themselves; the former would be concerned about
moral or mental science, and the latter about mathematics or exact science.
Again : arguments have been divided according to
the intention of the person who uses them ; as, for
example, whether it be to prove a conclusion dfrectly
from given premisses, or to prove that no other con-

RHETORIC.

RHETORICAL DIVISION OF AltGUMENTS.

clusion can be true, and hence indirectly to show that
the desired one is true.
Thus, in Mathematics, we have both kinds of proof;
we prove that the sum of the angles of a triangle will
be equal to two right angles, directly; and we prove,
indirectly, that since no other point is the centre of
the circle, C must be so.
But this is evidently of no use, as a rhetorical
division of argumonts; and it becomes necessary to
seek another: that which is justly stated as a rhetorical divisioii is' a division growing out of the rela·.
tion of the subject-matt ~r or meaning of the premisses,
to the subJect-matter or meaning of the conclusion,
supposing it to be granted.

positions, A is B, 0 is A, and· 0 is B, and then the
relation subsisting between them as premisses and
conclusion. Now, this subject-matter and these relations, it is evident, remain invariable, although written out in any one of a number of forms. Thus, let
us invest the logical formula just written, with thought,
as follows : -

19G

197

All men are mortal,
All Americans are men,
All Americans are mort.al;

This full or complete argument might have been
abridged, by suppressing the major premiss; and we
should have the equally valid formAll Americans are men,
Therefore They are mortal.

(56.) Rhetorical Division of Argument.

)

Or, we might have written it in the form of a condition:-

vVe arrive, then, at the only just division of argument which is recognised by Rhetoric; that is, the
division which is based. upon the relation existing between the premisses and tlze conclusion, as to their
subJect-matter, or meaning. Thus, we may have the
logical form : -

If all Americans are men,

They are mortal;

A is B,
C is A,
Therefore C is I3.

But, to consider the argument rhetorically, it
behooves us to know the meaning of the several pro-

I

in which the same argument is express~d. And so
for the other logical forms; but the rhetorical part,
i. e., the relation of the subject-matter of the premisses to the subject-matter of the conclusion remains
the same for all. Arguments, then, in which this relation subsists, may be called Rhetorical Arguments.
There are two principal divisions of Rhetorical
17 *

199

RHETORIC.

OF A PRIORI ARGUMENTS.

A1·guments, under which every variety,-and there
are many,-will be classed.
I. Arguments in which the premisses arc statc<l as
the cause of .the conclusion; or, in more general
phrase, where the premisses may be considered sujjicient to account for the truth ]aid down in the conclusion. These have been called d priori arguments;
an<l this phrase, in general, signifies the reasoning
from cause to effect; thus, having as a conclusion or
effect the grand and complete mechanism of Na turn
around us, and as premisses, the goodness and the
omnipotence of Goel; we reason from these latter as
a cause, to the former as an effect. So we reason
from human corruption and human need as a cause, to
the probability of a revelation from God as an e.ffect.
II. In the second <livision arc included all other
kinds of arguments: or those in which the premisses
would not serve to account for the conclusion, sup})OSing it granted; but would be a sign of its truth,
or would lead by analogy or experience to such a
conclusion. For the sake of convenience in reference, argum~nts as to their rhetorical use may be put
in the form of a scheme, or tree of division.
All merely logical forms are excluded, as they will
be fully treated and explained in the treatise on
Logic.
Scheme of Rhetorical Arguments,
Aecording to the relation of the subject-matter

of the premisses, to the subject-matter of the con-

198

clusion.
They are divided Into
,----

---,

which th e premisses would account

__ _

for th e conclusion, if the conclusion

were assumed as true.

Exnmple.

Sign . .
~-~-~--~

Tl!-slimony.

~

arguments in which the premisses
would not have been used to account for the conclusion; subdivided into
_____,.__ _,

d prior£ argum ents; or those in

Chnnccs. Prog. Argument.

&c.

~~--,---A-~-r---->

Induction . Expcrlcnce. Analogy.

&c.

In the use of the phrase, a priori, a much larger
latitude is permitted than it at first would seem to
allow; but to give this latitude will simplify the division and the discussion of rhetorical arguments very
much. Thus rightly to use the words ca.use and effect,
we would say that the intense cold is the cause of the
river's being frozen; but, by a wider use of these
words, we also say, that it will freeze, because .the
mercury falls in the thermometer.
Whereas, in
reality, the falling of the mercury is the effect of
cold, and the cause of nothing. In the view of Rhetoric we call all these kinds of arguments, however,
a priori arguments, since the conelusion in question
is, in each case, fully accounted for by the given premises ; if it is not the direct cause, it takes us by one
step to the direct cause.

(57.) OJ

apriori Argnments.

In the first form given, i. e. of arguments i.n which

200

RIIETOHIC.

the proposition in question, whether it be the th eme
of the discourse, or one of the subordinate propositions laid down in the discourse, is to be proved,-we
adopt the proposition as a given conclusion, and then
seek for premisses which, under tlie circumstances,
would be supposed to account for it as a cause.
And here, as it appears, it is not necessary to conceive either the conclu,sion or the premisses to bo
real, existent, facts ; but, for the sake of the arrrub
ment, we agree to CQ.IJ.sider them so, during the discussion or discourse. Thus, in poetry, and in prose
:fiction, the whole body of the discourse, beginning
with the subject, is fabulous, and yet the rhetorical
arguments must be used properly and naturally to
construct the discourse. We need not particularize
here: take any one of Scott's novels, ancl trace its
construction ; the train of argumentation must be
rhetorically correct, and the arrangement of the plot
must be probable; for the time being we regard the
story as true; and the genius of the author is displayed in establishing that verisimilitude of narration,
which we call natm·al and probable; and which causes
the scene to glow with light, and the personages of
his creat:on to walk upon it in a life-like manner.
But in the construction of argumentative discourse,
there is no such temporary illusion; we demand
valid arguments, containing true subject-matter, rhetorical1y invented, and placed in a just order of

OF A PRIORI ARGUMENTS.

201

arrangement, before we admit the propositi~n or pro:.
positions as proved.
And here it will be well to recur for a moment to
the great ambiguity existing in the words expressive
of cause and effect: such as because and therefore,
and many similar words; and the answers implied in
the question, Why?
Thus there are two meanings of because, or, rather,
two common applications of the word, which are both in
ordinary use as correct : the one expresses the rela~
tion of antecedent and consequent; as, for instance,
a man is wounded because he is shot by a pistol bal1 ;
or we say that sensation is the cause of perception.
A second meaning is the referring of the particular fact in question to a general law, under which it
will be a special example ; thus, if I drop my hat, I
say it falls to the earth because of gravitation. Now
the law of gravitation is a general law or genus; the
dropping of the hat is a species or individual case
under that genius; but the genus accounts for the
species.
Another use of the word because, is an entirely
improper one. Thus, I say: " How do you know it
is warm to-day?" The answer may be : "Because
the people are wearing thin clothes." This, it is evident, is the reverse of the true statement; and, in
place of because, we should read therefore. The
word therefore is used exactly in the reverse meaning

202

llIIETOlUC.

SIGN.

of the word because, and is as incorrect in general in
its use.

(59.) Sign.

The ambiguity of the word why, is of very constant occurrence. Sometimes we ask, vVhy? when
we desire to find out the cause of a thing; thus:Why arc the <lays and nights exactly cq ual at certain periods within the tropics?
Or we ask, ·why? when we desire a reason, as in
geometry, thus : Why is an inscribed angle measured
by half the are included between its sides ? Or,
when we desire only a rule by which to work, we use
the word, vVhy? Sometimes, also, the obJect of an
instrument is asked by the interrogation, Why? thus:
Why is this machine thus constructed?

(58.) Second Division of Rhetorical ATgu1nents.
In the se cond division of rhetorical arguments laid
down in the table, we class by far the greater number
and variety of them.
1

'.l. hcy are those in which the premisses could not
be considered as accounting for the fact contained in
the conclusion, supposing tha.t to be granted. This
class of arguments has been sub-divided into two
kinds, and these have been called Sign and .Example,
as our scheme of division has already displayed.
Other varieties, supposed to be different from these,
in earlier periods, are all now included under them.

203.

Under this head are included all those arguments
dependent upon proof: unlike the arguments a priori,
in which the existence of the effect implies and grows
out of the existence of the cause. What we desire in
these arguments is not to establish the cause of the
conclusion, but its truth.
If, instead of a cause, we speak of a condition,
which does not, indeed, account for the effect, but,
without which, the effect could not exist, (with which,
indeed, the effect might not exist); we express what
is called a s£gn of its existence. Thus, if a man who
is suspected of having committed murder, be found
with bloody hands, or a bloody knife, we should say
this was a condition of the effect, or a sign-not
always, be it remembered, an unfailing one-that he
had perpetrated the deed : for his hands might have
Sometimes,
been made bloody in some other way.
though not frequently, the Sign is a certain one; as,
for example, the freezing of water is a sure sign that
the mercury in Fa.hrenheit's thermometer has fallen
below 32°.
The argument is evidently of this nature, also,
when having a proposition to prove as an effect, and
having no cause assigned, we endeavour to prove
something to be a cause.
From what has been said, then, of this second

RIIETOitIC.

WITNESSES.

di vision of arguments, it will be seen that sornctimes, we reason from an effect back to a cause
which we .endeavour to prove a just or due cause;'
and sometimes from the effect, not to a cause but
simply to a conditi01i, which is a sign, to be carc~ully
consulted, of the effect containell in the conclusion.
And here we open upon the whole subject of testimony, which, it will be observed, is an argument of this
second division ; a proposition is stated as a conclu~ion to be proved, and testimony is required to prove
it. Testimony, then, is one kind of sign; and it
deserves, in the construction of discourse, the most
careful investigation and weight, for upon it the great
burden of conviction falls.

(60.) Testimony, as an Argttment.
It is not within our scope to enter at length into
the kinds of testimony, and the manner of weighin

·1

I.

g

205

survey of the su,bJects of testimony, of the witnesses,
of the chamcter of the evidence, and of the modes by
which testimony is obtained.

(61.) Fact and Opinion.
Let us consider for a J110rnent what the question or
proposition is upon which the testimony is desired;
whether it be only a matter of fact or a matter of
opinion; for example, in a case of trial of overt
crime, it may be, not only whether a person committed the deed in question, which is a matter of fact,
but whether, if the deed was committ~d, the commission constituted a crime, which is a matter of opinion.
Observe, again, that a matter of opinion like this,
being amenable to some standard of right and wrong
opinions, will, when applied to that standard, become
also a matter offact ; and thus fact and opinion .are,
to some extent, relative terms.

~vie enc~; t u.s forms a most important investigation

m the d1scuss10n of many sciences, and in the administration of public laws.
J\'Ia~y persons regard the use of testimony in the

e.stabhshment of the truth of propositions as very
sunple ~nd unerring; but if we consider the many
and delicate elements which enter into the account
we shall find this to be a great mistake. In order t~
guard against such an error, let us take a general

(62.) Wz'tnesses.
Again: the character of the persons who give
evidence is of the greatest importance in arriving at
the truth, for a witness must not only be . an honest
man, and design to tell the truth, but he must also
be a man capable morally and mentally of determining what the truth is in the case before him. If we
first consider the sincerity of the witness, we shall
18

20()

207

RllE'fORIC.

'l'ESTIMONY.

find this affected not only by the bias of avowed clish.onesty, but by prejudices of rank, age, family, station, and various other kinds.

nence, and when their own darts were exhausted,
seized and returned the heavy javelins, the pila
thrown at them by the Romans; and again, he merely
relates a fact which is powerful testimony to the
reality of that German valour which only needed the
severe instruction of the Roinan wars to fit them for
the subversion of the entii·e Roman empire. "Fight
us," is the language of Ariovistus to the Romans;
" you will learn to know us ; we are a nation that
have been under no roof for fourteen years."
Of the nature of undesigned testimony is frequently the testimony which comes from an adversary, and which, as it must go counter to his o"'n
wishes, is to be considered as of great value. · It is
usually not straightforward.testimony, but is incidentally given, and is brought out of its designed place
to bear upon the question at issue.
It will be further observed, that the testimony given
by a number of witnesses, although that borne by
each may be slight and insufficient,. often is of great
weight when taken together; all concurring in the
general fact which is to be proved.
Some writers have mentioned, as a kind of evidence, what is called negati"ve testimony. When a
certain argument publicly made, and known to have
opponents, remains unanswered, this is strong evidence of its validity and power; for we immediately
say, "If they can answer it, why do they not?" and

If, then, a person's expressed opinion chime with
his interests or his wishes, his testirno11y li:ts not the
weight it would have if it was found to be counter to
both. Such is the bias of the human mind, even when
the general intention is honest.
Again : upon a disputed point the numbe1· of witnesses who concur in giving the same testimony arc
of great importancf). By witnesses, here, we do not
mean merely adherents of a doctrine or science
believers in a fact which they never witnessed, wh~
are ignorant themselves, but pin th eir faith to the
skirts of others; we refer to real -witnesses of the
facts. The element of social influence is here excluded; each man mll~t testify only of what he personally knows, and n6t what he believes some one
else to have seen or to know.
It will be further observed that testimony as a s~r;n
of the truth of a given proposition, is frequ ently produced by those who, although witnesses of the fact,
had no intention to give evidence of its truth; and
such evidence is of great value. Such is the testimony to the bravery and firmness of the Ncrvii as
borne by Cmsar, when, without designing to give
them such an encomium, he tells us tlrnt they rushed
upon the piles of thci r own dead as upon an 0 111 i-

-H.IIETORIC.

CROSS-EXAMINATION.

the triumphant inference is, that it IS unanswerable.
In a controversy, the party .r;ilenced is usually the
party beaten.
As to the nature of the propositions with reganl
to which testimony is given, they may be of different
degrees of probability. Some arc highly probable,
and the testimony demanded is but slight, for the
mind is ready to give its assent on small proof: others
are very improbable, and the testimony must be clear
and conclusive. And yet sometimes the very improbability of a story leads to our doubting that it could
be fabricated, and gives a sort of antecedent proof
of its truth.
It becomes an important matter to determine how
testimony should be obtained, so as to insure its
truth in point of fact.

truth, and nothing but the truth," ends with the formula, "So help me God !" By this is implied two
things : First, a petition that God will help the person so sworn, to tell the truth; and, second, that if
he do not tell the truth, he gives up the help of
God, which is the source of our happiness and
prosperity.
There are many men, who, while they do not scruple to falsify in their ordinary talk, dare not tell a
lie under oath.
For those, and they constitute a lamentably large
class, who care nothing for the sanctity of an oath;
who take it with a mental reservation, or in any
way are willing to slight its sacred character, our
laws have provided in the statutes for the crime of
per;jury, and thus they are led by the fear of consequences to tell the truth.

208

(63.) Of tlie

~{odes

of obtaining Testinwny.

(64.) Cross-examination .

•

As we cannot depend upon the word of all men,
without ce1:tain greater sanctions than are ordinarily
presented, it becomes important to determine some
other means of obtaining the truth.
There are many men whose testimony, like their
lives, is always honest; but there are others, who
need, so to speak, a little spur to make them honest
in giving evidence. For this reason the civil oath
has been prepared, which, promising to tell "the whole
l~P

209

.

'

But. to get at the truth, by superior legal shrewdness, and often without the knowledge of the witness
as to the exact bearing of his answers, we have what
is called cross-examination; which so disconnects the
evidence, until the whole is drawn out, that the summary made by the whole is different in form from the
expectation of the witness. In cross-examination
by a skilful hand, a liar or prevaricator is often made
0

210

mrnTORIC.

to contradict himself, and thus his testimony falls to
the ground.
Although not of a rhetorical nature, it cannot be
amiss to refer for a moment to the objections brought
against civic oaths; and we do so for the purpose of
asserting our belief that the civic oath, in an enlightened country, is one of the safe-guards of the government, and should be preserved inviolate. The frequent use of the oath has been .said to make the
invocation of God too common ; and, since He is
called to witness in such transactions, it might lead
to the inference, that He docs not witness and judge
all our actions. It has been further said, that the
Bible is opposed to oaths, as in the passage: "Let
your communication be yea, yea, and nay, nay, for
whatsoever is more than this cometh of evil;" and
again: "Swear not at all." Without mentioning
other objections, for want of space, let us content
ourselves with affirming that the invocation of God's
holy name can never be too common, if it carry the
right spirit with it. Let it pervade all our institutions, if "the words of the mouth" be accompanied by
"the meditations of the heart." Again : the transactions in which an oath is required, are those involving
great interests, and making it all important to get at
the truth ; and the Bible is full of solemn asseverations precisely like our oaths. "Behold, before God,
I lie not," says the apostle; and God himself, "Since

DOCTRINE OF CHANCES.

211

he could swear by no greater, sware by himself."
~I1he. injunction, " Swear not at all," refers to profane
or light swearing, and not to legal oaths.

(65.) Concurrent Testimony.
The concurrence of testimoni~s, ho,vev~r slight each
may be, designed to prove a certain fact, has been
already referred to ; but the testimonies to similar
facts which confirm each other, seem frequently to
h.ave had no direct purpose to prove the fact in quest~on; they were incidentally and very vaguely mentioned; thus, although the allusion in our Lord's
pa1~able of the Prodigal Son, to His gracious design
to mclude the Gentiles in his promised salvation is
said to. b~ so slight that one would hardly be "':arranted m ~nterpreti~g it thus; when a similar though
equally slight allusion is found in many other parables, as, undoubtedly in the Rich Man and Lazarus
and also in the Labourers in the Vineyard, and others;
we can have no doubt that he vaguely proposed this
purpose in each, although there were few if any of
those that heard him who understood his meaning.

(66.) Doctrine of Chances.
Among the probable arguments which may be taken
as signs of a given conclusion, is · that arising from
what has been called the calculation of chances: and

RHETORIC.

PROGRESSIVE ARGUMENT.

this is an argument of constant use, and very general
application. We speak, in common parlance, of th~re
being a small chance of such an occurrence ; or agam,
we say that there are ten chances to one that such
another thing will occur. And in this phraseology
we undoubtedly have a meaning.
'l'his subject has opened to the mathematician some
of the most diflicult problems, and must be treated
with great care lest it lead us into error. W c can
hardly do more than mention it here.
It is not of course meant, by the use of the word
chance, to imply that anything happens by accident;
but we express by it our ignorance of the connection
between natural causes and their results ; and we
endeavour to reason partially from what we know, to
that which we do not know, but which this calcula•
r'.I'lms : tion of chances enables us to approximate.
if those who have the yellow fever probably die, and
those who are exposed to it will probably talce it, then
we may determine, in current phrase, what will be
the chance of a certain man's dying of yellow fever
who is exposed to it. Suppose ten out of twelve who
have it, die ; and suppose that one-half of those
who are exposed to it, take it; then if we express
certainty by 1 we shall have the fraction B = & to
'
express the chance which any one attacked with the
fever stands of dying; and ~ will express the chance
which any person who is e~<:posed stands of getting it.

Multiplying these two fractions, we shall determine
what the chance is that any individual who is exposed
to the fever, will die. ~ X j = l-:i, or such a person has the chance of 5 out of 12 of dying; while
his chance of living is 7 out of 12. In other words,
he has a better chance of living than of dying. This,
of course, is only a probable, never a certain conclusion.
Now, this argument is converted into afallacy very
often in times of alarm from pestilence : the feeling
of fear exaggerates danger, and it is said of any one
who is exposed in the manner above described, that
he will certainly die. This subject may be found
more expanded in the treatise on Logic (p. 202). It
only need be referred to in this connection, as one
form of rhetorical argument very commonly used.

212

.

213

(67.) Progressive Argumen.t.
Last of the second division of Rhetorical Argu-'
ments enumerated under the head of Signs, we have
the argument which comes, as it were, to a climax of
proof, by the succession and order of the several
arguments, or experiments, or facts, all of which bear
upon one point. Such is the argument by which we
prove the law that a body set in motion in an unresisting medium, will move with uniform velocity in a
right line, an<l will never stop, or be deflected, unless

HllETOlUC.

EXAMPLE.

it meet some check or resistance. As every known
medium is a resisting medium, we approximate to the
law by this progressive argument; that is, by trying
the experiment successively in media less and less
resistant until we approach as nearly to one unresisting as possible; in each case the motion is
longer continued, and more nearly in a right line.
But one of the most curious and interesting of
arguments in this form is found in the Ilebrew service for the two first nights of Passover : it is the
argument by which the Hebrews prove their indebtedness to Jehovah:"What abundant favours hath the Omnipotent conferred on us !
"For if he. had but brought us forth from Egypt,
and had not inflicted justice upon the Egyptians, it
would have been sufficient.
" If he had inflicted justice upon them, and had
not executed judgment upon their gods, it would ha.ve
been sufficient.

of fire ; the miraculous manna ; the institution of the
Sabbath ; the law given at Sinai; the promised land
of Israel; each of which would have been abundant
proof of his goodness : the high priest thus concludes:-

214

"If he ha.d executed judgment upon their gods,
and had not sla.in their first-born, it would have been
sufficient.
"If he had sla.in their first-born, and lrnd not bestowed their wealth on us, it would have been suilicient."

And thus, enumerating the dividing of the sea; the
drowning of the Egyptians; the pillar of cloud, and

215

" If he had brought us to the land of Israel,- and
had not built tlie temple, it would have been sufficient. How much, then, are we indebted for the
manifold favours the Omnipresent conferred on us,
(for he hath done all these things) ; and built the
chosen holy temple for us to make atonement for all
. "
our sms.
The argument from Progressive Approach, has
been used to prove the attributes of the Deity; the
mission of the Gospel in the world, and other very important propositions; but our space forbids more than
a general explanation and a single illustration . .

(68.) &aniple.
This word, which is the translation of the Hxos of
Aristotle, does not satisfactorily exp1'.ess its meaning;
but it has been used by all English rhetoricians for
the Greek word, and so, although not just, we shall
use it simply as a title, to include a number of important arguments.
ELxos means something like, or resembling; and
the use of the word Example to express the other

•
21G

IUl~TOIUC.

general subdivision of the second class of rhetorical
arguments, would include all cases in which we
arrive at a conclusion not absolutely certain, but
approximating to the establishment of a general law.
~l1lms we have Induction, where, from particular examples, we reason to the establishment of a general
lav{; Analogy, where there is a. resem blaucc of the
relations of things; as, if a certain poison will kill a
dog, we reason by analogy that it will kill a man ;
Experience, or from what we know to have occurred,
we judge that by the use of the same means we may
cause again to occur: and other .forms, all ranging
under the general topic of the Hxo~, or E xample. 1Vc'
shall consider these briefly in the order named.

(69.) Of Induction.
Induction consists in passing from a number of
particular examples to the determination of a general
law; thus:Jupiter, Saturn, Venus, Mars, the Earth, &c., move
round the sun in elliptical orbits. But all these are
planets. Therefore, all planets move round the sun
in elliptical orbits.
Here, what we know of individual planets, is
asserted to be true of all planets. But, since all the
planets have not been yet discovered ; and since
som e further investigation may find a. plan et whose

ANALOGY.

.

217

orbit is not an ellipse, we only attain by scientific
induction to the extreme · probability or likelihood,
and not to certainty. But sometimes the process of
induction is made satisfactorily to depend upon only
a single example. Thus, if in chemistry we find by
one experiment that hydrochloric acid dissolves gold,
we need not make other experiments with new pieces
of gold and new acid; because this single example
establishes the general law, that chlorine is a solvent
of gold .

(70.) Analogy.
Analogy, as has been already remarked, is a resemblance, not of objects, but of their 'purposes and
relations; thus there is an analogy between an egg
and a seed, because each produces an original growth;
between the life of man and the mutations of the
year ; between youth and the morning. It need
scarcely be observed, tlmt in no cases of analogy are
the objects mentioned. alike; but it is their relation
to each other which is similar.
The teachings of our Saviour are full of analogies;
and the parables are very striking examples of the
use of this form of argument. Men are likened to
trees, to sheep, to corn, &c.
But, it should be observed that analogy docs not
give us certain conclusions; thus, if we reason from
IO

218

ltllETOltlC.

the similarity of the general structure of man and
the brute, that what would be a poison to man woulLl
also kill a brute, we should err, because we have
found by experiment that some brutes are totally
unharmed by certain drugs which are strong poison
to man.
Among the most striking arguments in this form
are liistoric analopics, which need to be handled with
the greatest care, lost we commit grievous error in
attributing the characteristics and specific actions of
one age or race, to another most uulikc it.
Such an analogy may be found in the revolutions
in England and France ; the former resulting in tho
decapitation of Charles I. in 1G49, and being followed
by the restoration of Charles II. in 16GO; and the
latter in the execution of Louis XVI. in 1793, and
the subsequent restoration of Louis XVIII. in 1814.
But, although there are striking resemblances now to
be discerned between the two, no one would have
been justified by the relations of France and England
in having reasoned from the results of the English
rebellion, by analogy, to the probable results of the
French revolution.
In general, we use the phrase parity of r easoning,
when we moan analogical reasoning.

EXPERIENCE.

219

(71.) Experience.
Another form of argument, which may be stated
under the general topic of Example, is the argument
from experience. It is, perhaps, the most satisfactory
of all to most minds. It has been justly said, that
it is only the past which we can know certainly by
experience, and yet we judge of the future by the
past.
Thus, in the operations of the commonest laws of
nature around us, we judge by experience. It is
because, in all our past lives, we have known the sun
to rise and set daily, that .we feel sure it will rise
and set to-morrow. This, it will be observed, is one
form of induction, since from past examples, or individual cases, we venture to establish a general law,
which will include the future.
':I.1his form of argument is very frequently used m
discourse. Speakers appeal for proof of what they
say, to the experience of their hearers; and if they
can attain this, they are sure of success.
Patrick Henry enunciated the very law in · his
famous uppeal to the Legislature of Virginia, when
ho said : " I have no lamp by which my feet are
guided, but the lamp of experience. I know no
wuy to judge of the future but by the past. And
judging by the past, I wish to know what there has
been in the conduct of the British ministry, for the

220

221

IUIE'l 'OIUC.

THE TOPICS OF ARGUMENTS.

last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been please d to solace themselves and
the House.''
A sailor will tell you that he knows, by experience,
th e best season to make a certain voyage, or the pr ecautions necessary to be tak en in certain latitud es.
An<l thus exp erience. furni shes us with the strongest
and most satisfactory arguments in common life.

Invented exampl es, like the one just mentioned,
are of frequent use as illustrations ; but, besides
these, Fables may be also classed among examples of this sort; they offer examples of analogy,
and the proof which they thus convey in the story
which forms the premisses, gives us, as a conclusion,
the moral of the fable.

...

.

(73.) The Topics of Arguments.

(72.) R eal and Invented E x amples.
'

As has been befor e r emarked, in considering another kind of argum ent, it is not necessary th at the
examples which are used in proof of a question, be
r eal facts; they may be entirely unreal, and mad e to
suit a suppose<l case: but th ey must bear a str ong
analogy to the case in point. Socrates, who designed
to condemn the practice of choosing public officers
by lot, brought forw ard, as an invented examp le, tho
story of certain sailors who chose th eir steersman by
lot; intending ther eby, in both cases, to inveigh
against a custom which would fr equently lead to tho
choice of an unskilful person to control tho lives and
fortunes of oth ers; to stand at the helm of ship or
state.
In every case, such invented examples must have
an air ?f fitne ss and prob ability, or they will be entirely
with out weight.

In closing this general outline of arguments, as
they are employed in Rhetoric, it may be well to
state that the general subject of proof in discourse,
has been, by the older rhetoricians, all included
under the general head of the Topies.
'rhis word, called by Aristotle -r:onoi, and by the
Latin professors loci, means, literally, the division of
arguments into their different classes or places, where
they rightly belong.
vVe have designed to simplify the division by
classing them all as rhetorical arguments, and by
narrowing the subordinate ~lasses; particularly because, in the progress of the art of Rhetoric, the
nature and titles of the Topics have changed very
much since the days of Aristotle.
Thus, Quintilian enumerated among his Topics:
preJu dications, which may correspond with the argument from experience; . common fame, which has
19*

222

something in common with a priori reasoning ; aml,
under what we would call Signs, he enumerates as
topics, written documents, witnesses, oaths, ~fc.
An adequate nomenclature is, indeed, the just
demand of any science; but such quaint, unnecessary,
and historically-changing words, are only mentioned
here to give a reason why they are not used by us,
and how we may dispense with them, and be better
off without them. 'l'hey are only needed in a History of Rhetoric.

MODES OF USING ARGUMENTS.

RIIETOlUC.

223

' ~ .

?i""

'

CHAPTER IX.

(74 .) Of the Modes in which Arguments are used
in Discourse.
IT now becomes important to consider some of the
modes in which rhetorical arguments are advanced in
discourse; as, for example, whether in proof of some
proposition asserted by ourselves, or in disproof of
some objection . started by our adversary; · whether
in any discourse it becomes 'US to prove what we assert,
or simply to deny what our opponent has asserted,
and let the burden or necessity of proof fall upon
him.
All such questions must be settled by the nature
of our special design in the discourse ; we may be
called upon to instruct and satisfy ati honest mind
seeking for truth, and anxious to receive and use it
when found; or it may be to combat" the prejudices,
and compel the belief of our opponents, who at the
same time are doing all in their power to resist the
truth and maintain error. It is very evident that
the nature of the arguments used in these several cases
would be very different; and that what would be a

2'.24

RIIETOHIC.

OF THE DURDEN OF PROOF.

weak and unconvin cing argument to determin ed opposition, might be sufficient and satisfa ctory to the
ardent inquirer for truth: just as the earn est watcher
for light would catch the first faint streakings of the
dawn, which would be lost to one who is content to
grope in the opposite darkness.

demands proof? Manifestly the former. So strong
are our convictions, without set proof, that the human
mind at once acknowledges the sagacity of the Psalmist, when he cries:-" The fool hath said in his heart,
There is no God!"
The word presumption is commonly used to ex.:.
press that a certain proposition is to · be esteemed
true, until it be disproved; or that the burden of
proof lies with the man who disputes its truth.
Thus, the presumption in favour of proposition, and
the burden of proof, lie on opposite sides. To illustrate this, we have the well known maxim . of the
common law, that every man is to be considered innocent until his guilt be legally proven ~ What is this
but a simple assertion that the burden of proof lies
with his accusers? that, although we may know froni
our private judgment he is not innocent, that he is
not required to prove his innocence, but that the law
must prove his guilt? If sometimes, by legal quibble
or sophistry, orie guilty man escapes by these means,
we know, that were the other mode resorted to,
many innocent men would find it impossible to prove
.
.
.
.
their innocence. ·
:Many conditions might be stated in whfoh the burden of proof can be easily determined ; thus the presumption is in favour of established and existing
conventions in the world, political, social, and religious.

(75.) Of tlw Biirden of Proof
First, then, it is of great importance, in th e process of our discourse, to lay down what may be p resumed to be true, without proof; or, in other words,
to determin e on which side in any controversy res ts
the burden of proof-that is, the necessity to p rove
what is asserted.
Thus, we find intuitively established in the mind
of man, a belief in, and an aspiration after, a First
Great Cause-which we call God. The proofs of the
existence of the Infinite Deity are all around us, and
address th emselves to our intuition as well as to our
reason. ·with wh om, then, in an argument,-not
between a believer in God and an Atheist,-but an
argument in which this ques tion might incidentally
occur, as a clue to other matters, with whom should
the onus probandi, the burden of proof, reside ?
·w hat, to the mind of man in all parts of the worl<l,
is the presumption on this subject? is it that there
is a God, or that his Being is so doubtful that it

a

p

225

22()

RHETOIUC.

Thus political conventions find their issue in governments; and the presumption is in favour of the
existing government; all who make attacks upon it
must be prepared with the proofs against it.
In social life, the presumption is in favour of existing forms, until they be proved to be evil. In religion, also, the same fact holds good; what exists
!nay be, and has sometimes been, evil, but it must be
so proYed ; because the presumption is in favour of
the institution already existing, until it be proved
wrong.
·Again, the sarn.e may be stated in another form ;
as when we say that we must always presume the innocence not only of a person, before the court, but
as to motives in daily life ; this view comes from that
heavenly principle of charity, which, since it cannot
see the motives of men-God alone can do thisalways contents itself with supposing some good motive for an action not in itself absolutely evil ; and
thus not only "believeth all things," "but hopeth
all things."
On the contrary, what is new and untried, has
always the presumption against it; with it lies the
necessity to prove itself true. Thus, although at the
present day, Christianity is the greatest existing
institution ; anu, therefore, the presumption of its
truth is strong, on that account; yet, when it first
app eared, the whole case was different. The pre-

OF THE BURDEN OF PROOF.

227

sumption was strongly against it, and it · was called
upon for proof of its divine origin.
That ptoof, indeed, was not wanting. It poured
in floods of light from our Saviour's teachings, his
blameless life, his wondrous miracles, his resurrection
from the dead, his ascension to Heaven, and bis presence with his Church in all time since; it was seen
in all the wonderful and inspired acts of the holy
apostles. The early Christian fathers were men who
undertook not to prove directly the falsity of the
pagan philosophy, but they were apologists: they
undertook to prove the truth of Christian doctrine.
It should be noticed, however, in the use of. this
word that the presumption may be strong or weak.
Thus, we constantly use such language as this: "The
presumption is very strong in his favour."
So, again, presumption sometimes does not · rest
upon proof or intuition, but upon a sort of suspension
of the judgment in deference to the source whence
the proposition ·comes; thl}s, if a per.son who , is
claimed to be authority in science or learning, asserts
as a fact something in his special department of research; although I am perfectly ignorant of the
matter, I assent to it, or, if with my lesser knowledge I incline to differ from him, I defer to his
opinion; and, in many cases, if I should presume to .
differ from him, I should be esteemed arrogant and
self-conceited.
In matters of subordination and

228

•.•

IUIETORIC •

order, there can be no doubt of the great respectability of authority; and the learner shoultl surely be
content to receive as true whatever comes from his
teacher; but in matters within the scope of human
judgment, although the presumption may be in
favour of such propositions as come from high
sources, we should carefully test them, and not undervalue the reason a.nd miderstanding which God has
given us with which to find and comprehend truth.
~l1his has been admirably stated by Lord Bacon, in
his "Errors of Learning," in quaint but choice language : " As water will not ascend higher than the
level of the first spring-head from whence it dcscendeth, so knowledge derived from Aristotle, and
exempted ,froni liberty of examination, will not rise
again higher than the knowledge of Aristotle; and,
therefore, although the position be good, 'oportet
discentem, credere,' yet it must be coupled with this,
'oportet edoctzwi, judicare,' for disciples do owe unto
masters only a temporary belief, and a suspension of
their own judgment, until they be fully instructed; and
not an absolute resignation or perpetual captivity; and
therefore, to conclude this point, I will say no more,
but so let great authors have their due, as time, which
is the author of authors, be not <lcprivcd of his due,
which is, further and further to discover truth."
It is painfully true that this feeling of deference
to the opinions of others has not only been a fre-

OF THE DURDEN OF PROOF •

229

quent cause of leading men into error; but, what is
far worse, it has made them hypocritical, by leading
them to disguise or deny their own impressions of the
truth.
But if, on the other hand, a fact or proposition be
by one for whom we have no deference who
.is&tated
'
n.ot regarded as authority, it is evident th~ presumption is usually against it: from him we require
proof. An error equal to the one just mentioned
frequently grows out of this also: instead of acknowledging that such a proposition may be proved, and
carefully examining the proof, we are apt t~ take the
presumption against the · proposition ill question as
conclusive, and to think, although we should .'. be
unwilling to assert it, that it cannot be proved.
Much might be written of the use and misuse of
the presumption in fa\'our; . and of the burden of
proof; but our only purpose is to explain their meaning, and give a general illustration of their use.
It will be seen that sometimes the presumption may
be removed, and placed upon the -other side. ' One
of the best illustrations is found in t~e question
whether the Nathanael mentioned iri St. John's Gospel, and called by our Saviour " an Israelite indeed
. whom there is no guile," was the same person who'
m
is known afterwards as the Apostle Bartholomew.
Now, what is the presumption, in the absence of
direct proof that they were the same? It is, that
.

20

RIIETOHIC.

OF REFUTATION.

there were two distinct persons, and not two names
for the same person. But let us go a little farther :
this name, Bartholomew, seems to have been among
the Jews a patronymic. Simon Peter was Bar-Jona,
the son of Jona; Joseph's name was Bar-sabas; and
so this apostle, iu all likelihood, had another name
to distinguish him from his brothers, each of whom,
like himself, was a Bartholomew, or the son of the
same father. ·with this view the presurnption is
shifted, and is very strong in favour of the assertion
that Nathanael was also Dartholomew, especially as
Nathanael, a most excellent and eminent man among
the earliest followers of Christ, is nowhere mentioned
again by his own name.
So, also, with the change of presnmption, the bnrden
of proof may be sometimes shifted, as in the case of
Christianity just mentioned. Before its establishment
the necessity rested, as we have seen, with its apologists to prove its truth; but, in its present state of
exaltation and self-demonstrating power, the burden
of proof is shifted; it remains for its opponents now
to prove it false-a most difficult, an impossible task ;
and yet one which there are not wanting men rash
enough to atte1npt.
Such has been the case, also, with almost every
science known to modern times: in their early and
obscure periods when they were struggling into life,
in opposition to the then existing tenets, they were

called upon for proof of their reality: all empiricism
was thus detected and denounced; but when they
took their places in the great system of classification, they no longer spent their time in asserting
their claims, already made known; they content
themselves now with leaving the onus of . proof to
their opponents, and with answering only objections
brought against them from responsible and ·respect..;
able sources.
From what has been said we see that, while presumption is in itself of the nature of. proof, it does
not give a necessary advantage to the side upon which
it lies; it challenges proof against it, indeed, but this
need not be wanting, for the . pres~mption proceeds
only upon reasonable grounds, and may be rem~ved
by fair argument, and a counter presumption established, or the presumption in favour be entirely
destroyed. Many persons, of more boldness than
honesty, make assertions as though the presumption
is in their favour; and although .it is not, they sometimes present so bold a front as to silence all opposition.

230

231

(76.) Of Refutation.
By the refutation of an opponent's argument, we
imply, first, that his argument has been fairly stated,
either by himself elsewhere, or by ourselves as embodied in our discourse, and that we rzow proceed to

232

OF REFUTATION.

IUIETORIC.

answe1· it; and thus to destroy the proposition which
he has laid down and attempted to establish.
There are two ways in which the proposition in
question may be refuted: the first is by destroying
the arguments by which he has attempted to prove it;
and the second, by proving the contradictory of his
conclusion. Thus, if we have the proposition as pro"
pounded by an adversary:All C is Il;

we may state the prennsses by which he proves thi5',
namely, thatAll A is Il,
All C is A,
And that tl1crcfore All C is Il;

And then deny one of those premisses, either the
major or the min01·,-and this would falsify the conclusion ;-or we may make the counter assertion, or
proposition, that
Some C is not Il ;

which, in logical language, is the contradictory of his
proposition, and undertake to prove that. If we succeed in doing this his proposition falls to the ground,
since, by a logical law, if one contradictory be true
the other must be fals e, and vice versa.
Thus, let a project be proposed, and let one man
undertake to prove that it must be successful, for

233.

certain 1·easons; I may refute his reasons or arguments, and thus destroy his proposition; or I may,
quite apart from his plan of argument, prove that the
project in question must fail, for certain other rea-1
sons. In either case I refute his assertion, and his
arguments fall to the ground ; and I attain the end
proposed.
The objections of an opponent are to be refuted ;
the fallacious reasoning in· any discussion is likewise
to be refuted; and to do this we sometimes use irony,
either directly or by implication; thus, if, in order to
prove his proposition absurd, we assume as true, premisses which we afterwards disprove-the very act is
ironical. This is always done in the indirect modes
of reasoning, known, in geometry, as the ·re~uctio ad
absurdum, and in many other sciences as the 1·eductio
ad impossible. It cannot be too strongly enforced
that irony, wit, liurnow·, and ridicule, in all their
forms, are dangerous weapons in argument, and are
frequently used instead of valid argument to substantiate error; in all grave argumentative discourse they
should be avoided.
,· ,
Thus, says Mr. Milman, in his edition of Gibbon's_
Rome, " Paley, with his intuitiye sagacity, · saw
through the difficulty or answering · Gibbon by the
ordinary arts of controversy; his emphatic sentence,
'Who can refute a sneer?' contains as much truth
as point."
20*

234

RIIETOHIC.

(77.) Provin,r; loo J,{uch.
It may seem strange, that in any process of argumentation, there should be mentioned such a fault as
proving too rnuch. But sometimes an argument which
seems to prove the proposition in question, may also
prove another aml an absunl conclusion ; and thus
the first conclusion is invalidated. If, for example, we are told that a slave was beaten to death
by his master ; and hence it is argued that a system
which will allow it is therefore evil; then, if we find
that a woman was beaten to death by her husband,
or a child by his father, by the same reasoning we
should object to matrimony and paternity. 'l'hcrc
may be, ~ml are evils in every human system, but if
we attempt to prove them by such invalid arguments,
we injure, rather than support our cause.
If in the construction of a discourse, we design to
'
refute the arguments of our adversary, it cannot be
too strongly urged that these arguments or objections
should be fairly and fully stated; simple justice
demands this; and besides, the effect produced on
the mind of the hearer is an excellent one, when he
finds that honesty, in this particular, characterizes
the discourse. Thus, even in controversy, "Honesty
is the best policy."
It is a difficult and delicate question to determine
just how much proof of a given proposition is neces-

PROVING TOO MUCH.

235

siry; how earnest may be our refutation ·of an opponent's position. For, the effect upon the mind of the
hearer is weakened, if he finds that we are plying
strong argument to prove something almost axiomatic,
or to disprove something which is scarcely tenable
without the attack. Thus he begins to fancy that
the apparently weak assertion, which we combat with
such energy, must conceal something really strong
and difficult of refutation; and as ·the arguments
against it are increased, and the supposed latent value
of the proposition remains still undisclosed, the hearer
begins to· doubt. It is like the absurdity of levelling
a cannon against a sparrow ; the bird may be instantly
destroyed, but if the sportsman ' have no manifest
reason for such gunnery, he will · be regarded as insane. Suppose,· for example, that we attempt, with
our strongest arguments, to prove the existence of
the Deity, which we already believe, for we have no
argument as strong as our intuition; we may find
ourselves in the position conceived by the poetess,
when she speaks of
"Books, which prove
God's being so definitely, that man's doubt
Grows self-defined the other side the line; .
Made Atheist by suggestion."
~rhe

arguments adduced should be not only valid,
but clear, commensurate in number and force with
tlrn demands of the subject; not endeavouring to

'
23G

PERSUASION.

lUIETOHIC.

establish that which may be taken for granted;
always ready with the just burden of proof; not
proving too much, and thus defeating themselves ;
and not presenting a strong and bristling front to a
weak and supine enemy.
The consideration of rhetorical arguments at length
would require a review of many of the subjects treated
by logic; such as the forms of arguments, and
the different kinds of material fallacies, i. e. · fallacies in which the subject-matter of the premisses or
of the conclusion is false. But with the foregoing
indications of the forms and general use of such arguments, we must leave the general subject of Conviction as an object of discourse. In the chapter on
Arran,qement, will be found a statement of the proper
order and sequence of rhetorical arguments, to give
strength and compactness to discourse in order to
convince.
Before proceeding to the consideration of the
arrangement of arguments, and of the other parts
of discourse, we come to dwell, for a little time, upon
the other principal obJect of discourse. This has
been called persuasion; and, although it is not immediately concerned about purely argumentative discourse, it constitutes an important part of every discourse of a rnixed nature; and is alone capable of exercising an influence over the wills and tempers of men,
by which they are led to just and laudable actions.

237

CHAPTER X.
PERSUASION.

(per and suadeo, to urge or incite
through certain modes), means the influencing of the
will.
Ctmviction, we have endeavoured to show, is attained
by the placing of new thoughts in logical forms of
argument, and establishing in the mind the truth by
means of valid proof. But this truth, thus ·armed
and substantiated by proof, may be ·acknowledged;
and assented to by the intellect, and yet exert no
influence whatever upon the conduct or character,
such as its acknowledgm~nt ought to produce. We
have invented our discourse to convince the Intellect·
we must now undertake another process-through ·the'
feelings to sway the will. This is the work , of.Per"'.'
suasion. ·
Persuasion, then, or the moving of . the will, is
effected by the presenting of motives to action, and
by the appeal to the feelings which will give these
motives an entrance and influence.
First, then, of the motives to action. 'I1hesc, it is
PERSUASION

IUIETOHIC.

OF EXHORTATION.

obvious, are of two kinds, and tend to show us that
the special object proposed is truly a desirable one,
and also that the modes by which it may be attained
are the ones suggested in the discourse. That is,
persuasion depends first on Argument, and then on
Exhortation.
I. 'l111c first class of motives includes those whieh
arc purely mental, and the conviction produced by
proof addresses itself to these motives. Thus, very
often, the mere presentation of the truth to produce
conviction, excites these motives, and also produces
persuasion.
There are men who will shut their ears to all appeals to feelin[!, as intemperate and deceptive, and
who will act pr'omptly on conviction of the truth and
of duty. vVith such, then, when we have attained
the object of conviction, conviction has at once mduced persiwsion.
IL The other class of motives are such as are
brought to bear upon tho sensibilities, and to present
such motives we make what are called appeals to the
feelings; or, in other words, we play upon the passions of our hearers.
In the gcnernl term sensibilities are to be included
the appetites and grosser passions, the affections of a
higher order of ~entiment, and the ernotions, already
referred to, as excited by beauty, sublimity, anu goodness; all those feelings in short which holll man in

sympathy with the corporeal forms and spiritual
beings around him.

~38

239

But the will, like all other · faculties, is the creature of habit, and begets a certain condition of a permanent nature, from which neither conviction nor
ordinary appeals to the feelings will drive it. This
fact constitutes an important reason why we should
cultivate and render permanent, good habits of the
will, and avoid all evil courses which would serve to
render it callous, stern, and immovable.
These unbending wills are not addressed by simple
conviction, because there is not a lively connection
maintained between the will and the intellect; nor are
they moved by the purest pathos, because they have
cut loose from all the finer ties of feeling.

(78.) Of Ex!tortat-ion.

•

By Exhortation is meant the attempt to excite
men's minds to adopt the means proposed, by showing
.that the end to be attained is desirable and good. ·It
may be best understood by considering the use made
of it in religious discourses.
For, in the subject of religion, every one who is
convinced of its truth, must acknowledge 'th\Lt it is
important so to live as to secure eternal life; and so
it would seem sufficient for the preacher to prove and
convince, but such is the tenacity of mavn's>vil1, and

OF APPEALS TO

B.IIETORIC.

2..io

so difficult is it to make him do what he acknowledges
to be right, that we know the chief necessity i~ a
sermon is to exhort and }Jersuade men in beseechrng
tones ; in the words of the apostle, the minister makes
his appeal, " As though Christ did beseech you. by us,
we pray you, in Christ's stead, be ye r~conc1led to
God.'' And as there are more who believe the doctrine than live in accordance with its precepts, exhort~tion must always be a chief part of the preacher's
duty. Among the means of exciting the mind used
1
by exhortation, the first to be mentioned is the apz eal

to the passions.

(79.) Of Appeals to the Passions.
In this general division of persuasion, it must be
noticed that there are two distinct kinds of appeal,

as to thefr 11ioral character : I. An appeal to human benevolence or love; the
expression of some fond relation' filial, . con!ugal,
fraternal, which awakens a kindred emotion m our
hearts ; the operation upon the sympathy of our
hearers causing them to rejoice with us when we
reioice 'and to weep with our mourning, are just and

"

'

pandered to, the appeal is manifestly improper :
. .
·s done to us whatever results may
grca t mJury i
'

PASSIONS.

241

accrue to others. Suppose, for example, some one
tells me of the munificent charity of another person;
whom I rival in social position, in order to .cause my ·
envy of his new distinction, and thus to lead me to
give more munificently still,-whate.v er physical good
may come to the poor, moral evil is done to me. All
charity systems, which are thus based upon a knowledge of human nature, or, as it is unjustly called,
knowing our wealc side, deserve to fail entirely of
success. So, again, if a person, taking advantage of
my weakness, appeals to my feeling of revenge, he
does me a great wrong, and does violence to the
right.
Appeals to the feelings are often used in a falla ..
cious manner ; to . thi~ class ._o f faUaci~s .belong the
argumentum ad lwminem, ad verecundiam, .and ad
populum; in which the feelings of vanity, shame, and
intemperate excitement are appealed to in place of
just proof.
.
It has already been hinted, that there arc many
minds which have calmly determined to resist all
appeals to the passions, because such appeals are so
often improperly made. Thus, artful women employ
" The silent Rhetoric of persuading eyes," .

.

proper kinds of appeal to ht~man ~ass10n.
.
.
II. But when our envy is excited, or om vanity

TH~

to lure men to evil; falsehood puts on the robes of
sentiment to obtain our charity ; and oftentimes the
orator, who would fail to carry his point in any othe~
~1

Q

IUIETOitIC.

OF APPEALS TO THE PASSIONS.

manner, risks all upon the pathetic, and carries the
will captive against our honest conviction, or without

will, to some extent, the controller of these ; and

242

full conviction.
But we should not, for these reasons, disregard such
an important part of discourse as persuasion, when
rightly used. And, besides, it has been well sai<l, that
if an orator makes sometimes improper appeals to the
passions, he does, quite as frequently, use fallacious
arguments, by which to deceive us; a.n<l if we would
give up appeals to the passions for such a reason, we
must, for the same reason, resign all argumentation.
To keep the mind in such a healthy and sincere
state, that it will not be unduly affected by appeals
to the passions; that itself will discriminate the
right and wrong of such appeals, is of prime importance; and then to acknowledge all proper drafts
upon our finer sensibilities-gratitude, pity, devotion,
and charity, the greatest of all, and the inspirer of
the rest-such is the culture of heart 'rhich is potent
to "raise a mortal to the skies."
L~t it be observed, that, although the feelings or
sensibilities are not controlled by the will, yet there
is such a connection between them, as leads to a
decided reciprocal influence, and gives each an indirect control over tho other. 1.1hus, we cannot, Ly a
simple effort of the will, directly control our love, or
fear, or anger; our laughter or tears ; but there is
n. constant effort in wcll-ordcrc<l minds, to make Llie

243 '

in many cases, the effort is eminently successful.
Conversely, while the will is not controlled directly
by these various emotion~, it often yields, willingly
and gracefully to their suggestions, ·a:nd is led · to
obey their mandates. This· is the · strong ground
taken by persuasion, when, in its efforts to 'influence
the will, it subsidizes the feelings and appeals to the
passions.
It becomes important to inquire the modes in which
the sensibilities are to be reached, if they cannot be
reached by an exercise of the will. If you can prov.e
to me that a ma~ ~suffering is an object of pity; you
cannot thereby;' perhaps, make me pity him.
The answer is, by leading the mind to candid ·and
secret reflection upon the subject of our persuasive
discourse. By an array of all the touching circumstances, of all the tender relations, of all the obligations growing out of these relations, the conscience
as well as the ;'udgment is touched and the will is
indirectly bent to the "mode of thought and feeling.
Such is the problem which the orator often undertakes to solve. He tells his story in such a way, he
portrays his pictures, and dwells upon the pathetic
points so as to enlist the feelings, as it were, in spite
of the will, and afterwards, by their aid, to enchain
the will and lead it in his train. .Tr~e, he must. have
much art, and must carry us alo~g with him through-

..

245

ltlIETOIUC.

OF ADDRESSES TO THE FEELINGS.

out the persuasive part of his discourse ; for if he
fail we are rudely thrust back upon our former state
of ~nsensibility, and. are farther from the condition

to abandon a course already pursued, or to desist' from
an undertaking which has just been determined upon,
and not yet followed.
There is also a third kind of persuasion sometime~
enumerated, the obje~t of which is to strengthen
person in the continuance of a course already adopted~
and thus far persevered in ; but from which he is in
'
some danger of falling.
The power of persuasion, in a public speaker, de:.
pends much upon the character which. he has with his
audience ; and this character springs from the opinion
which they entertain of his honesty, talent, and kind
intentions towards them. To this should be added a
certain amount of tact, by which, while he intends to
exert power and influence, always directed with' an
honest aim, he shall seem to leave the natural treatment
of the subject to produce the desired effect, rather
than himself to be playing upon the sensibilities of
the audience ; and this brings us to a brief consideration of the manner in which the address to the feelings should be conducted. '' '

244

, ;

'

he designed than ever.
And now if we are inclined to think that the
orator's persuasion partakes of the nature of trick or
strataO"em, let us reflect that this is just the stratagem
0
which we practise on ourselves constantly in lea<ling
our own minds into phases of benevolence, gratitude,
or devotion; and especially in that self-censure which
O'rows out of our constant short-comings in the matter.
b
•
We may then justly suQject ourselves to persuasive
discourse, only using our better judgment in determining that it is rightly done, and appeals to right
motives.
Of the detailed methods, by which we persuade in
discourse,' very much might be said ; as, for instance,
of the t!mployment of sympathy; of pathos, in its
various forms; of the contagion of passion, by which
tears demand . tears, rage kindles rage, and desire
begets desire; but we must content ourselves :vith
the mention of a few of the general modes in which

persuasion is usedP ersuasion proper has for its purpose to lead one
to the performance of something new, and different
from a former course of action.
.Dissuasion, which is another class under the general head of Persuasion, is designed to cause a person

a

(80.) Of the Feelings.
The term Feelings, thus used, is intended to com'prehend the passions and sentiments in all their
variety, and thus the kinds of effect to be produced
by such an address are widelj different ; but a few
general directions will apply to them · aH.
-·· ·
21

*

".'?1://

. ... .

"·l . •,
i\

'·

24G

RIIETOilIC.

When such an ·appeal is designed it should come
without being heralded, spontaneously as it were, or
it excites no sympathy. Men, it has been before observed, are impatient upon this point; and dislike to
have their feelings forced. And so, if a speaker should
by the manner of his address seem to say, "Now I
am going to excite your anger; and now I shall claim
your pity,"-the heart shuts itself against such a
vain-glorious boast, and remains insensible to the
appeal. It is,. in part at least, upon this ground that
•
what is called good advice is often rejected; and
many orations and sermons lose their hortatory power
because they pa~·take of this fault.
Often it is only necessary for the persuasive part
of the discourse to heighten or strengthen the impression made by the conviction of truth; and thus truth
itself is eloquent in moving the will. Much, it is
clear, depends also upon the illustrations which persuasion uses to effect its purpose. Figures of thought
couched in figures of speech, such as comparisons,
rnetapliors, the climax, and others, are used.
Thus, if we would awaken pity for an orphan child,
who is in great want, in the breast of one who is herself a mother, let us ask her to imagine her own child
deprived of its parents, and thrown upon the mercy
of a cold and thoughtless world: let us endeavour to
paint such a picture, with glowing words, before her.
The illustration is potent, and the words which pre-

-· .

OF ADDRESSES ·TO TI-IE FEELINGS.

247

sent these may be so chosen as to make the picture
a striking one, just as the colours and pencil of the
artist embody his great idea with a beautiful garb to
greet the eye. Such illustrations are indeed strikingly
analogous .to pictures. But enough has been said on
the general subject of persuasion to show its design,
and the general modes in which this end is attained.
It.constitutes a secondary, but an important object
of discourse. It becomes necessary to proceed, without longer explanation upon this point, to the next
general division of Rhetoric.
We have discussed INVENTION at length: ~e come
now to consider the ARRANGEMENT of discourse· and
. '
this it will be remembered is preparatory to the third
and last division, STYLE.

248

RIIETOIUC.

CHAPTER. XI.
ARR ANG EMEN1'.

(81.) The.Parts of a Discoif/rse.
THE second of the great divisions of the rhetorical
art, in the ·construction of discourse, was stated to be
Arrangement.
It is manifest that in the process of Invention,
which has now been fully explained, much partial
arrangement must have taken place; but the adaptation of the parts of a discourse to each other has led
to an examination of these different parts and titles,
indicating their places and functions in the discourse
taken as a whole.
In this consideration the arrangement of arguments
is of the greatest importance; or we pay the greatest
respect to those parts of a discourse designed to convince. Thus, a proper connection is kept up in the
proofs of our original theme.
As a proof of the importance of the arrangement
of arguments, we have a story of Demosthenes and
lEschines, the two contestants for the palm of oratory

ARRANGEMENT.

249

in Athens. In the contest "IJe Corona," lEschines
begged the judges to require that Demosthenes should
be compelled to answer his arguments in the same
order in which he had brought them forward. But
the arrangement of Demosthenes showed his skill,
and aided in his success. It was entirely different
from that which lEschines would have prescribed.
For the sake of convenience, then, in the preparation of a discourse, as well as · to establish a general
formula of the proper order in a discourse 1 it has been
usually divided into the .Exordium, Narration, Pro. position, IJiscussion, and Peromtion. Of these we
shall see that the essential parts of a discourse are
the Proposition and the IJiscussion; and the others,
though important, are only subsidiary. These all, in
the order mentioned, constitute the special as well as
general arrangement of a discourse : we proceed to
explain t·hem in order : - 1. The .Exordium, otherwise called the Introduction or Proem, is designed as it were only to open
the interview between the speaker and hearer, or
between the writer and reader. In this, a general
salutation is made, and the occasion and circumstances
of the discourse are set forth.
It has been observed by Aristotle, and the same
fact has been already mentioned, that the Exordium
is not one of the essential parts of a discourse, since
we may enter at once, and often without abruptness,

251

IlIIETOr..IC.

AllRANOEMENT.

upon the consideration of the theme of tho discourse.
In short discourses it is usually very brief, and frequently omitted altogether; in larger works, published in volumes, the Exordium, generally explanatory of the nature of the work, and the circumstances
under which it was written, is contained in the Preface, or set Introduction, which prepares tho mind to
enter upon the work itself.
Of the Exordium, and especially in that form called
the Preface, it •li~s been justly said that it should not
be compos~·d until after the work is written, because
it is only then that, any author can declare what its
contents are, and the circumstances which . attended
its production; and there would be danger of announcing too much, and of promising a certain lino
of treatment which the after circumstances might render impossible.
The title of a book is also of the nature of an introduction-that is, it is the statement of its subJect; and
this, although it is known and kept in mind throughout the preparation of the work, in a general way,
is often specifically determined on, after the book is
written. Sometimes the introduction is in the form
of the correction of an error, on the given subject: it
is then called an introduction corrective; and thus,
too, according to the special design, we have the introduction narrative, or preparatory, or inquisit~'1•e.
2. The Narration is a setting forth of the facts

connected with the case, which have given rise to the
discussion in question. This is very frequently contained or absorbed in the Exordium, and is sometimes
included in the Proposition itself; but in an artistically constructed discourse it usually enters as a distinct part; and in many kinds of discourse it occupies the chief place; thus, in History and Biography,
narration presents men and objects as they move or
are acted upon, in a succession of time, sometimes
without reference to the existence of the causes or
effects.
3. The Proposition, which is the first essential element of a discourse, is the statement of the particular theme or subject of the discourse ; and it bears
of course the closest relation to the special obJect of
the discourse. To illustrate this last remark, take
any theme, such as "The Force of Habit."
Before we begin to treat this theme it is evident
we must know the obJect which the discourse has in
view; is it to explain the philosophy of "the force
of habit," or to prove that the law holds good with
all our faculties? It may be that we design to take
these for granted, and merely to exhort the young to
cultivate good habits and avoid bad ones. Justly,
then, the proposition is the subject of our discourse,
when it is considered in relation to its object.
In the statement of the proposition it is not unusual to divide it into distinct heads or subordinate

252

OF THE ORDER OF REFUTATION.

IlIIETORIC.

propositions, to be maintained; and it is usual sometimes to state, if it be a matter of controversy, the
points of difference between the writer and his opponent.
4. Next in order comes the IJiscussion. This has
been divided by some writers into the Confirmation
and Refutation, and has to do with the rhetorical
use of arguments, already explained, and with their
arrangement, which is also of very great importance.
First, the!1, as ~a general rule, the writer confirms
his proposition-that is, he brings forth his proofs of
the proposition in,the best array and strongest order.
This, of course, will depend in some degree upon the
person addressed, and the circumstances under which
the discourse is prepared.
But, in the second place, he must consider the relation sustained by the arguments to each other; some
arguments are only of value as connected with others;
each link alone may be weak, but put together they
may constitute a powerful chain.
With these remarks we proceed to observe, that
the most obvious arguments should take precedence
in a discussion. Of this nature are the a priori arguments, or those which reason from cause to effect.
These attack the mind more readily than others, and
engage the attention more easily. They are, indeed,
altogether the strongest arguments used.
Next after the apriori arguments are ranged those

253

included under the heads of Sign and .Example; and
these, in general, in the order of their strength, for
the strong arguments generally prove the right, while
the weaker only prove th~ expediency. It will be
remembered that the whole subject of testimony has
be referred to this class. Such being the order of
confirmation, what then should be the order of Refutation ? It is by no means to be supposed that the
refutation of an adversary's objections, should always
be placed last in the order of arguments. Sometimes,
if the opponent have advanced some very strong and
apparently unanswerable objections, it is · deemed
proper to state them at the outset of the discussion,
and to sweep them away by refutation b~fore we
begin to establish our own proposition ; otherwise
they hang like a cloud over us in our attempt to cast
the light of truth upon the subject. In ordinary
cases, that is, where the objections are of reasonable
strength, it is considered proper to place them about
in the middle of the discussion. ·· The · reason of this
is a strong one. If we leave these objections to. the
last, many persons, who know of their· existence, will
be affected prejudicially towards our argument, thinking that we ~.re overlooking or negle9ting them~
Even when it seems necessary to defer the refutation to the last, it may be well to mention the existence of the objections early in the discourse, and to
22

255

RHETORIC.

THE CONCLUSION.

promise that they shall be fully refuted before we
close.
But it is not only of importance to judge of the proper chain-work of arguments; but also to determine
the order and form of single arguments in our discourse.
Sometimes one form is more proper or more courteous
than another: as a hypothetical than a categorical;
and sometimes it requires a delicate judgment to
determine whether we shall state the conclusion fir st,
and then proceed to prove it; or announce the premisses first, and deduce the conclusion. In many
cases, if the conclusion be a proposition well known,
whether easy of proof or not; or if it Le a new
statement, which, ·when enunciated, will have general
claims upon popular belief, it may be stated first, and
the premisses may be added as proof, if it be desired.
In most cases, indeed, if the proof be forthcoming,
this is a strong order, because, if by the statement of
the proposition, a shadow of doubt for a moment ari se
in the mind, there is an appearance of moral force
exerted in bringing forward premisses to sweep n,way
the doubt, and vindicn,te tho truth of the assertion.
It is also a good rule, in tl1c array of proofs, to sta tc
the most general first, and then to come down to particulars, as nn,rrowing the circle of the proof and concentrating it at last upon the given point.
It will be manifest that, in purely argurnentati\'e
di ::;cour se, all tli e parts of disco urse enumeratcLl l c-

come absorbed in the proposition and the diseussion.
'.I..1hey begin with the inquiry as to the truth of the
proposition, and end when the array of proofs and
the refutation of obJections is completed; but in most
forms of discourse this is not so. We pass to the last
enumerated among the parts of a discourse.
5. The Conclusion or ending of discourse was called
peroratio by the Latins, and En~Mro~, by the Greeks.
As in the case of argumentative discourse, just
mentioned, t~e conclusion may be sometimes designed
to close, and sum up the arguments, in which case it
is called the conclusion confirmatory; sometimes it
will, after the completion of the discourse, be in the
form of a slight explanation at the close ; in this
event "it is termed an explanatory conclusion.
But, in general, the conclusion is the scope and
province of persuasion; it is here, in · general, that
after explanation, and argument, and refutation, that
the subject of the discourse thus substantiated is applied to the heart, with the design of influencing the
will, and leading to some new and specific acti~n.
It has not been unusual to classify, as one of the
parts of a discourse, what is called the Recapitulation; or n, brief but comprehensive summary in proper
order of the discourse itself°: to refresh the mind on
all its points, and fix it in the memory. But this is
not a necessary part of the discourse, although freq ucn tly of good effect.

254

1

,.

!

1

l

i
;f

.I

i

251

IWETOlUC.

'fHE THREE UNITIES.

Sometimes it is very forcibly used just after the
discussion of the proposition, to state, or rather to
enumerate the arguments adduced, in the inverted
order, running back the chain just linked together,
and testing, as it were, its validity and power.
No more than a general idea can be given of this
subject of arrangement, for, linked as it is indissolubly
with the invention of discourse, it depends very much
upon the characteristics of judgment and fancy in
each individual, and each great genius has invented,
as it were, an arrangement for himself, which partakes of his own originality.
·what has been offered, however, wi11 serve to guide
the student in the general structure of discourse, and
to give him a set of rules with which to try and practise his own powers.

gre&.t importance in works of pictorial art. ·To explain
these, let us consider them in their order. A chain
of connected facts contains an interest and pleasure
'vhich is entirely wanting in an incongruous and disconnected mass. Unity of action, then, consists in
having but one main plot. Take, for ·example, the
events in the life of an individual, as narrated in his
biography; they are all united by the single figure
which moves with their current; and thus unity of
action is attained. This kind of unity must be found
in the epic, the drama, and the fable, by which the
ancients included all that we now express by romance~
novel, and tale; and this unity aids in giving to each
the Aristotelian requisites of · a discourse, . viz., the
beginning, the middle, and ·the end, · of ·a n entire
action.
'l.1 his is more or less applicable to every discourse;
but in History, or at least in the chronicle history,
less than in any other form, is the 1,(,nity of action to
be found, since such history is the record of many
and incongruous events. But in the higher studies
of history, to him who is enabled to recognise the
invariable laws at work, and to philosophize from
remote causes to distant effects, a unity of great action is disclosed, and we are charmed with the power
wliich ranges the myriad events like well-ordered
troops into their own places, symmetricaJly fixed, and
presenting beauty and order in the great story.

25G

(82.) The Three Unities.
Included in the general subject of Arrangement
is the maintenance, throughout a discourse, of what
are called the 'l'hrce Unities-of Action, '1 1ime, and
Place.
'rhis seems to be a French theory, founded upon n.
pa.ss::i.ge in the Poetics of Aristotle; and it has be en
applied principally to the Drama. To possess these
unities wa.s long regarded as the chief merit of a dramatic composition ; and is also to be regarded as of

22 ·X-

H.

258

IUIETORIC.

THE THREE UNITIES.

259

It is evident that when the plot is determined upon
and laid down, all episodes, of whatever degree of
interest, mar the unity of action. Such are the
tales; bearing no relation to the main story, which
aro found in Gil Blas, and in certain of Dickens's
novels. And thus sometimes this unity of action is a
fault, since it interferes with charming episodes which
would please by their novelty and freshness. It is
characteristic of the present period, that literature is
in some degree relieved of the severe trammels of this
unity; and that while the general plot is preserved,
the incidental interruptions are permitted, and lend
the interest of novelty and freshness to the work.
The Unity of time, as proposed by the Greeks, and
adopted by the French, demanded that the period
supposed in the drama should not exceed twentyjour
hours. This is at present entirely i'nadmissible, and
has marred the beauty and interest, not only of the
Greek and Homan drama, but of Addison and the
French tragedists, who have imitated the classic

As a remarkable example of the regular construction of the drama, in accordance with the tltree uni'ties, Dr. Blair has mentioned the "Cato" of Addison.
" '.I1lrn author," he says, "has limited himself in time
to a single day; and in place has maintained the
most rigorous unity. ~'he scene is never changed;
and the whole action passes in the hall of Cato's
house, at Utica." And, in consequence, the "Cato"
is a perfect failure. Some of the best dramatists
· have failed in unity: among them Shakspeare even
is to be found. Preserving the unity of action '\vith
tolerable care, he has frequently violated the unity
of time and of place. Perhaps he knew little of the
nice laws of dramatic discourse; but made for himself laws suited to his own most original and glorious
mind.

models.
The Unity of place required that the same scene
should be kept before the spectator during the entire
piece. This most monotonous formul:t has been disregarded in the modern drama, a chief attraction
of which is the presentation of new, varied, and rich
scenery, in ·which art counterfeits nature with rare success. But in a single Act of the modern drama, which

·w hat has been said has been designed to explain
terms so often met with, rather than in any way to
enforce these rigorous rules. A proper respect for
unity in discourse must be observed by all writers; but
they should not, in any form of discourse, allow themselves to be cramped and trammelled by its requisitions. Like the delicate web the discourse should
have beauty of design and symmetry of proportion;

demands · a close unity of action, it may be doubted
whether much is not lost to the illusion, by the shifting of scenes, and the transformations of locality,
before the eye of the spectator.

OF STYLE.

IUIETORIC.

2GO

261

the genius of the author, in passing with his subject
to its object, shoultl"Feel 11t each thread, 11nd live along the line."

CHAPTER XII.

But nature is a better teacher than even Greek art;
and nature, while it originally gave the rule, presents

OF STYLE.

also the caution.

(83.) Preliminary Inquiries.
has been stated as our third division of Rhetoric. Having thus far considered op1y Invention
and Arrangement-i. e., the rhetorical preparation of
the thought in discourse, we come now to consider th~
dress of this thought, or rather the body of the discourse,
of which the subject-matter constitutes the spirit: in
other words, style has regard to the language in which
our thoughts, as invented and arranged, a're expressed
for the purposes of instruction. And here we would
recur again to Dr. Campbell's dictum. vVe have shown
that the first part of that dictum is true; that '' Rhetoric holds of Logic by the sense ; " we now enter
upon the examination of the second part, and, as we
proceed, we shall find it equally true that "Rhetoric
holds of Grammar by the expression." Thus, in its
Invention, discourse demands of Logic the proper
arguments; in its Style it subsidizes Gramma1· for
the proper and correct language with which to express
these arguments.
THIS

lllIETOJUC.

OF SPOKEN LAKGUAGE.

By Style is meant the mode or manner by which
thought is expressed in language; an<l in our limited
scope a special reference to the English language is
designed. It is necessary then, at the outset, to say
a few ,yords as to the design of language in general,
and as to the characteristics of the English langua.ge
in particular. 'rhis must necessarily be very brief.

tain an invariable relation to each other: for reason
is the principle of man's thoughts or ideas, and Ian..:
guage is their expression.
And, again, it is manifest that man, thus gifted
with speech to express his thoughts, puts forth an
arbitrary power, in order to connect them. For the
same objects or thoughts have, in different languages,
a different set of articulate sounds to express them:
and individuals of different nations cannot understand
each other without going through the new mental and
mnemonic process of learning the new language.
'

2G2

(84.) Of Language in General.
Since, as it has teen remarked, Rhetoric makes
use of Grammar, in its applications of lauguage, a
great deal ·of what comes within the province of
Grammar must be either explained in a treatise on
Rhetoric, or it must be taken for granted as understood by the student before he un<lertakes the stu<ly
of Rhetoric.
It may be well, however, to mention a few of the
principal features of language, which belong equally
to Grammar and Hhctoric.
Language is the faculty of expressing thought by
means of cei·tain sounds, which are used as the s(qns
of thought:' The sounds which are thus used are
called articulate soumls, or sounds which are made
•
expressly !o. set forth thought.
It must be observed that language, then, was given
to man just· as reason was bestowed upon him. 'l1l1cy
both distinguish him from the brute creation, an<l main-

263'

(85'.) Of Spolcen Language.
It is unnecessary, in this investigation, to discuss
the theories which have been brought forward to ac~
count for the origin of speech; we content ourselves
with the statement found in the Bible, which informs
us that God gave to Adam the power of speechthe organs by which articulate sounds are uttered,i. e., the thorax, through which the volume of. sound
is emitted, and the teeth, the tongue, . the lips, the
palate, which modify the sound and render it articulate in its passage. Besides this complex power,
God gave to man the will to use it; and we are told
that, after all this rare gift, God brought the ·beasts
of the field, and the fowls of the air, "unto Adam,
to see what he would call them; and whatsoever

llIIETOIUC.

OF WllITTEN LANGUAGE.

Adam called every living creature, that was tlie
name thereof."
It should be mentioned that many distinguished
philologists have endeavoured to discover the law by
which language has developed itself; for, even contenting ourselves with the Mosaic account of the
divine origin of language, we cannot doubt that, like
all other natural gifts, it is subject to improvement
and development.
Lord Monboddo, considering man an improved or
higher species of ape, corroborates his theory by finding certain resemblances ·between primitive sounds of
the human voice and the chattering of apes.
The discussion of such theories forms no part of
our subject, although speech, as originally given, was
much limited by the ignorance and the want of practice of the earliest human being; yet, as the power
and the will existed, language increased in its vocabulary as the range of thought and observation became
more expanded; and the conventional sounds were
commensurate in number and application to the
objects and ideas which came crowding in newness
of beauty and splendour upon the mind.
Thus, a cry of passion, rage, fear, sorrow, love,
was an untutored expression of thought which suggested a word like itself in sound. Such arc still
reproduced in what are called exclamations.
A
harsh, or rough, or boisterous subject or per s on~

would, on the principle of imitation, call for a similar
sound to express it. This, of course, was easy, when
noise or motion were concerned, and thus we may
readily trace, to such a source, many common words
in use at the present day. ~l1he cuckoo is named from
its own sound ; so, also, is the whip-poor-will. A
stream is said to flow, a rifle to crack; the wind
whistles or moans; the lion roars; the bee buzzes;
and so for many common words taken evidently from
the sound in question.

264

265

Such an inquiry may be carried much farther than
the limits of this work will permit. . The organs of
the voice seem intuitively to suit themselves to the
sound required with strange appropriateness. :
Take ~ few examples :-vVords beginning with sl, a
liquid sound, are usually expressive of gentle motl.on;
as slow, sly, slit, slip, slide, &c.
Those beginning with st usually denote firmness
and strength, such as might spring from the etymology of the Latin verb, sto-stare, to stand; for exam:.
ple, stay, stop, staff, steady, state, &c.
Thus, also, words beginning with thr, imply force,
as tlirouglz, thrust, tlireaten; wr begins words indicating obliquity, as wrong, wrangle, wrest, &c.
The earlier sounds, adopted as signs of the thoughts,
became, in process of time, fixed, polished, and inflected, for more distinct and delicate use; and thus
23

RHETOHIC.

OF WRITTEN LANGUAGE.

the parts of speech became farmed, and the distinct
functions of grammar were evolved.
Thus, the necessity of some convention of speech,
by which the same thoughts could always be expressed
by the· same words, was the origin of orthography
and syntax; while the gradual process of polishi11g
and refining, what before was aboriginal, harsh, and
dissonant, employing for this purpose the principle
of harmony, gave rise to prosody, and by its aid gave
laws .of rhythm and versification to poetry.

written characters are more arbitrary and conven:..
tional than the sounds themselves. There are, manifestly, two sorts of written characters, symbols of the
object, and signs of the word. Let us look at both
for a moment.
I. Included among those written forms which symbolized the thought, are pictures and h.ie1·oglyphs.
It would appear, from an examination of man's
nature, that pictU?·es must have been the first attempt
to express thought by writing. We find children to
make their first efforts in design by imitating things
around them, and the history of all savage tribes
proves the same fact. The Aztec picture writings
formed the written archives of the government, as
well as the postal communication found in Mexico,
when the Spaniards landed at Vera Cruz, under
Cortez. They depicted the cavaliers; the horses,
then entirely new to them ; the thundering cannon:
these pictures, forming in some sort a connected
story, were sent at full speed, by the Indian runners,
from the coast to the great city of Tenochtitlanthe present Mexico-where Montezuma resided. The
plan of expressing thought by pictures has been called
the ideographic system.
Not unlike the pictures, in their symbolism, were
the liieroglyphical characters used in the East and in
Egypt. But the hieroglyphs were a step in advance
of the pictures: they symbolized ideal things that

2GG

(86.) 0/ W1·itten Language.
As speech could only convey thought as far as the
voice-the organ of speech-could be heanl, the next
problem, which arose to tax the human ingenuity, "·as
the discovery of a mode by which these thoughts
might be expressed to a person out of hearing, and
at a distance from the speaker. The solution of this
problem is written language.
There is a story of an Indian who carried from
one settlement to another a letter, which contained a
full account of some crimes he had committed, and
was thunderstruck when he found that those who
received the letter knew, in detail, all he had done.
This wonder is significant of the slow process by
which writing attained to its present perfect adaptation to sound. And it will be observed that tho

267

2G8

lUlETOlUC.

OF WilITTEN LANGUAGE.

had no form or semblance. 'l'hus, knowledge was
portrayed by an eye; a circle was the symbol of
eternity; for wisdom, they drew an ant, and for ingratitude a viper.
But this form was leaving, in some degree, the
idea of imitation, and approximating to the entirely
conventional system of alphabetical writing. Ilicroglyphs, from the Greek iEpo5, sacred, and 'Y"-v<Pw, to
carve, originally covered the idea of pictures; but,
in their purely symbolic form, they owe their origin to
the early Egyptian priests, and were employed, as the
name indicates, principally in making sacred records.
The task of determining the nature of these records,
by an investigation of the system of hieroglyphs,
devolved upon Champollion, a French savan, and was
very successfully performed.
II. vVe come now to consider the second kind of
writing, which, although it bears no resemblance, or
symbolical analogy, to the object or quality which we
design to express, gives only the sign for the word.
Ilere everything is conventional and arbitrary. Sometimes the manner of this presentation of thought is
very rude and simple; thus, the aborigines of South
America make knots at certain distances, in cords
of various colours, and thus write their letters 011 a
string. To a certain extent the North American
Indians carry out this principle, in their belts or
strings of wanipunz. Of this nature, also, arc the

2GO

Arabic characters \vhich we use in arithmetic, 1, 2,
3, 4, &c., and which are not only arbitrary signs, but
are also entirely abstract, representing the numbers
of any objects or ideas whatever; thus, we speak of
three rnen, or three lzouses, or three rniles, applying
the numeral equal1y to persons, places, or· distances.
The principal progress in the second form . of
writing, or that in which a sign of the thing is
made, was in the invention of an alphabet. This word
is the conjunction of the first two letters of the Greek
alphabet-aA.<j>a {317't'a.; and the alphabet is a list of arbitrary signs, called letters, which are used to form
words; but a language may consist, as does the
Chinese, of an alphabet of words: each sign or
figure being a word, instead of a letter; or it may
be an alphabet of syllables, such as is found in the
Siamese language, and in the written dialect of
Ethiopia.
Our own alphabet of letters comes to us directly
from the Romans, but they got it, with slight alteration, from the Greeks; and then we recur to the
well known tradition that the Greek alphabet was
brought to Greece by Cadmus, more than three thousand years ago; a tradition which is corroborated by
the conformity found between the oldest Greek inscriptions and the Pho:mician letters. Those who are
curious in tracing written language, will find a diversity of interesting inquiries. '.l'he old form of writing
2;:
\

·X·

270

OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAUE.

ItllETOltIC.

was from right to left; and it Is still seen in the
Hebrew writings. ~.l1he first so called improvement
upon this was made by the Greeks, and called
f3ova't'poqi"l8ov, or turning lilce ploughing oxen.
'.l'he
first line was from right to left, and the second from
left to right, and thus they alternated like the furrows in a cornfield. An example of this is to be
found in the Sigrean inscription among the Arundel
marbles.
'.rhere cannot be expected, in a treatise on Rhetoric, a full exposition of Language, which in reality
belongs, il'\ its details of structure, to Grammar,
and in its expansion, in the province of words, to
the larger science of .Philology; but the structure of
language must be presupposed, and borne in mind,
during the study of Rhetoric; for, from Philology
Rhetoric claims the signification and proper use of
words, and upon Grammar Rhetoric depends for the
structure of sentences. Both words and sentences
must be kept in view in the consideration of Style.

(87.) Of tlie English Langua,r;e.
Of the English Language, to which tho Jaws of
Rhetoric are here applied, it should be rcrnnrkcd,
that it has facilities, equalled by no other langun.ge,
for constructing forcible and elegant discourse.
Composed in the main of tho Anglo-Saxon, an1l

271

the Latin (including the French), it combines the
vigour and boldness of the Northern speech, with the
harmony and flow of the Mediterranean tongues. In
many cases we have two words to express the same
object or thought, the one taken from the Saxon
and the other from the Latin, and nice shades of
difference, analogous to the difference between the
Saxon and the Roman mind, are thus obtained · a
'
JUSt proportion of the two produces the happiest
effects ; and has characterized the best productions
of English Literature.

.

It is evident that the adaptations of Rhetoric are
modi~e~ essentially by the character of the languag.e ;
a~d It IS no less true, that :the language as to its
vigour or poverty reacts upon the intellectual powers
of the nation using it. Thus, English Rhetoric will
not only differ from the laws laid down by Aristotle
for Greek, or by Cicero and Quintilian for the Latin·
.

'

but we ~hall find the English Language suggesting
and soarmg to reach, as it were, the greatest thoughts,
and then holding them enchained for 'e ver, as in the
splendid imagery of Milton or the immortal philosophy of Shakspeare. If we desire to compare our
own with another language, we find Montaigne, in
his Essays, giving us a well considered opinion of the
scope and power of the French, as it flourished in
the sixteenth century. "I find it sufficiently abounding, but not sufficiently pliable and vigorous; it

IUIETOitIC • .

OF THE DIVERSITIES OF STYLB.

quails under a powerful conception; if you would
maintain the dignity of your style, you will oft
perceive it to flag and languish under you." Not
so the English: the best German philologists, among
whom may be mentioned Jacob Grimm, have been
found to assert that the English is, taken in all
its parts, the finest language ever known ; because it
has subsidized and ·combined the best features of the
best languages wftich existed before it. To fashion
this language into its best forms for conveying
beautiful and vigorou~ thought; to use its words in a
pr_oper and precise m~nner ; with them to construct
sentences, clear, strong, and harmonious ;-these arc
the functions of Style, and thus Style, while it is
sensibly dependent upon the rules and teachings of
Grammar, is also an important division of IU1etoric.

outward form to the inner substance, is still of vital
importance, since no thought has value until it is
expressed, and Sty le is this very expression of the
thought. Style, it is evident, varies with many considerations. First it varies with the varieties of language, springing from the varied character of men,
whether in nations or as individuals; 'e xpressing
their peculiarities as essentially as is done by their
features or general appearance ; again from the
divers subfects upon which it is employed, and finally
from tho different occasions upon which it is used.
First, then, look at the national differences. 'Th·e
Oriental nations expressed themseives in :1 diffuse
and florid manner, preferring apologue and parable
to plain language; and our North American Indian
fills his speech, short and pithy as it usually is, with
metaphors and illustrations drawn from nature around
him. 'rims, we 'say the English style is plainer and
less inverted than the French: and so each nation
has its peculiarity, springing from the habits, residence, and historic circumstances of its people.
For individual varieties we have coined a number of
adjectives to express the marked peculiarities. Thus,
Lord Bacon's style, especially that of his essays and
letters, and also the aphoristic style, which finds its
most thorough illustration in the Antitheta, has properties so distinguishing it from all others, that when
a writer expresses himself in a similar manner, we

(88.) Of the Diversif'ies of Style.
From these general remarks on language, we return
now in due order to the consideration of STYLE.
By Style in IU1etoric, it has already been said, is
meant the manner in which a writer expresses his
thoughts in language. It is derived from the Stylus
or iron pen, with which letters were scratched upon the
tables of wax used for certain records. Style, although
of a lower order than Invention in Rhetoric, bearing
to it . the relation of the body to the spirit, of tlie

s

273

IUIETOHIC.

OF THE DIVERSITIES OF STYLE.

call his style Baconian. The style of the l>est munbers of the " Spectator," distinguished in its day for
ease, elegance, and learning, was called Addisonian,
from their writer. And so highly was it appreciated
for nearly a century afterwards, that Dr. John son declared that he who would form a good Engli sh style
must give his days and nights to the study of Adllison.
Dr. Johnson's own pompous style is now known as
Jolinsonian, while his Latinistic language has been
humorously called, in certain cases, since his own day,
"Jolmsonese ;" and was supposed to nce<l tran slation
into Englis~1.- So fearful, indeed, <lid Dr. Johnson
seem of using plain Saxon English, that he is saill,
in more instances than one, to have made a simple
entry in a diary, or to have related a circumstance
in a private letter, in plain English, while the same
facts, dressecl out for publication in his " Journey to
the Hebrides," are given in his most pompous an cl
foreign language.
In the account of this Journey he states that he
foun<l upon "the bed on which he was to repose, a
man black as a cyclops from a forge;" which statement
he had already made, in a letter to Mrs. '.l1hrale, in
the following plainer words : "a dirty fellow bouncecl
out of the bed on which one of us was to lie." 'l'his
indicates clearly the difference between Johnson's
thought, which was clear and simple, and the pecu-

liarity of his expression, or his style; which partook
so largely of the Latin element in our language.
The brilliant style of Macaulay, both in his history
and his essays, and the trenchant style of Sidney
Smith, will sufficiently illustrate all that need be said,
in this place, concerning the varieties of style which
grow out of individual character. Buffon has said
and the remark has been often quoted: "Style is'
the man himself.''

274

275

The question would naturally be asked, if among
these numerous variations of style there is a standard
of rhetorical style, which, when applied to each indi..;
vidual writer, will establish his claim to goodness and
elegance.
':ro answer this, it must first be observed that different kinds of discourse require different kinds of
style.
'.l'hus, an oration may be written in long
flowing periods, suited to the cadences of the human
voice, or what the French rhetoricians have distinguished as the style periodique; while a brief statement of some exact logical subject will demand short,
expressive, exact sentences, forming a curt and epigrammatic style. "With these peculiarities of style;
tho grammatical structure of sentences, as to their
clearness and harmony, has much to do.
Many other circumstances, analogous to these, will
affect the choice of words and · the structure of sentences; but when these are all duly considered, rhe-

27G

RHET OHIC.

toricians have decided upon a standard scale of style,
which is marked in its different degrees and according to its different uses by the adj ectivcs dijf"use,
concise, feeble, nervous, dry, plain, neat, elegant,
florid, &c., denoting at once the character of the
writer's mind, the degree of imaginat'ion with which
he is endowed, and the adaptation of the style to the
subject-matter of the discourse. But the distinctions
made by these adjective epithets is very vague and
indeterminate; for every fancied quality of style a
new epithet·might be coined, allll thus our nom enclature incre.a~'ed ad infinituni.
'.l'here is, however, a just standard of style, which
will be, best convey ed by t!tc words good and appropriate ·on the one liand, and by bad or inappropriate
on the other.
Since style is that part of Rhetoric which has to
do with grammar, it may be said that it is an extension and higher use of grammar itself; or, as Dr.
Campbell has well illustrated it, "the grammatical
art bears much the same relation to the rhetorical
which the art of the mason bears to that of the architect."
It will be well, therefore, to go back a little to the
consideration of grammatical purity of language,
which is the first requisite of style, without which,
indeed, style is rhetorically unpleasing and imperfect.
It is usual to presuppose it, as a foundation for Hhc-

OF GltAMllIATICAL l•'IG URES.

277

toric, but it is better to connect it in this work with
what has heretofore been deemed purely rhetorical,
from that intimate connection between the two arts
· which makes either useless without the other.
And here it becomes necessary to mention a few
of what are called grammatical figures; or designed
deviations from grammatical rules, which affect the
sty le of discourse.

I. Of Ortltograplzy.

Those which give a false spelling, as Mimesis and Archaism.

II. Of Etymology. ~I.1hose which alter the form of
the word so as to rob it of the marks of its lineage,
thus: 'till for until; 'bove for above, &c. These are
very numerous, and include all the recent efforts
~11ade to accomplish a system of "phonetic spelling,"
that is, spelling a word as it is pronounced, and thus
losing all marks of its ancestry; as, in many received words, has been already done. "Fancy"
gives no trace of its Greek parentage; while "phantasy," its older form, tells us at once that it is derived
from paµ.'l'Mta,

III. Of Syntax. These errors consist in the altered
construction of sentences, by means of the addition
or leaving out of words, or by an inverted form of
speech. Such are the Pleonasm, the Ellipsis, Syllepsis, &c.
It is only designed to mention the existence ancl
general form of these grammatical figures; all of
2-l

IUIETOltlC.

OJ.' UllAMMATICAL FIGURES.

which are indeed of importance m the construction
of style ; but they must be studied at length in grammatical treatises, and presupposed as already known
by those who undertake the study of Hhetoric. Of ·
the figures of Ort!tograplty, the one called mimesis
consists of false spelling, giving an incorrect pronunciation, as misc!tievious. 'l'hc sccoml in this class is
the archaism, or spelling according to old forms when
new ones have entirely superseded them in good and
current usage : such as Fafrie Queene; liadde for
had; or at .if we should now adopt the spelling of

" They return back again to the same city from
whence they come forth; or "I went home full of a
great rnany serious reflection. ':l1he superfluous words
marked in italics are quite obvious, and lend nothing
to the sense.
':l1he Ellipsis, or the omission of words really belonging to the sentence, but which the mind readily
supplies, and which are then said to be understood.
It is obvious that these errors in Grammar are of
chief importance, in their rhetorical use, as marring
the excellence of style. They must, of course, be
constantly guarded against, because they conflict
seriously with the qualities of a good style, now
about to be laid down.
Thus, though they are violations of Grammar only,
they become corrupters of Rhetoric, and show us how
important Grammar is to Rhetoric ; Rhetoric being,
as has been already suggested, dependent on Grammar in its relation to Style.
To sum up all in a word, then, Rhetoric must presuppose perfect grammatical correctness and propriety, or its own correctness and propriety are
invaded, and its own success, as means to an end,
sadly endangered.
vV e pass now to the consideration of the qualities

278

old Father ·Chaucer:"But Cristes' love, un<l hi s aposl.lcs twelve
Ile taught., but fir st he folwcll it himsclve."

Of the figures of Etymology, we may take as examples the Syncope, Dim1·esis, and Paragoge. Syncope
is the leaving out of one or more letters in a word,
as e'er for ever, ,ne'er for never, isn't for is not, &c.
Direres.i~~ the marking of distinct syllables where
two vowels'. come together, which would otherwise be
pronounced 'as a diphthong; this is indicated by
two dots over 'the second vowel, as in preifminent,

aerial.
Paragoge consists in achling a letter or syllable to
a word, as vasty for vast, witlwuten for wit!tout.
Of the figures of Syntax we mention the Pleonasm,
or the use of superfluous words ; as in th c passa gc :

279

of a good style, and to the proper cautions against the
corresponding evils; by means of which we may frame
our discourse upon just rules, and guard against error.

280

QUALITIES OF STYLE.

HIIETOIUC.

QUALITIES OF STYLE.

TnE distinct qualities, which must always be possessed by a good style, may all be included under
the three heads of Perspicuity, Energy, and Elegance.

(89.) Persp icitity.
This word meant, originally, capable of being seen
through, from the Latin perspicio.
By P erspicuity, in Uhctoric, is meant then such
a use of words, phr ases, and sentences, as will convey our ideas to others clearly and intelligibly. It
will immediately appe ar that this is the principal
quality of Style-for which re ason it has been first
stated; for, unless we make ourselves di stinctly und erstood, all our energy is useless, and th e general appropriateness of our lan guage, and the adaptation of
manner, to the occasion and to the persons addressed,
will be unavailing. To be understood is our first
ann. And yet, although perspi cuity is thns of pri-

281

mary importance, it will be readily perceived that it
is entirely relative. That which is perfectly intelligible to some is jargon to others.
Persons of quick apprehension catch the meaning
of the speaker, while it is yet enigmatical to others;
scientific men apprehend in a few technical terms
what would require pages of explanation to make
perspicuous to the unlearned. And besides thus consulting the character of the audience or the readers;
reference must be also made to the circumstances
which surround them; to the attention they can be
prevailed upon to bestow on the subject-matter presented; and to the manner and duration of that attention. Here nice judgment and tact are necessary.
As in general, however, any rhetorical effort is presented not to single individuals, but to numbers, who
in clude all varieties of mind and all degrees of attention, this quality of style becomes the more important, and must therefore be subjected to some general
rules, which will in some degree suit all discourses.
And first, it will be observed, from what has been
already said, that perspicuity has very much to do
with Grammar, and that here "Rhetoric holds of
Grammar."
Thus the langua.g e used must be correct, or, to
analyze it grammatically, the words must be pu1·e,
that is, good modern Engli sh, as opposed to the obsolete and th e new-coined. ~rhey must be proper, or so
:! b 7:·

282

lUlE'l'OlUC.

QUALI'l'I.ES OF STYLE.

selected as to convey the exact ideas designed, and
the words and sentences must be precise, or convey
rio more than the exact design of the writer.
Now, these two requisites of purity and propriety,
as applied to words and phrases, arc sometimes mistaken for each other, or .indiscriminately allied : but,
as we shall see, they are quite distinct. Purity is

sol vcs by the stronger minds in the audience, the
speaker should make for the less intelligent himself.
'.I1o avoid this error, many writers violate the laws
of perspfruity by falling into the opposite fault, that
of prolixity, which so clouds the subject with words
as to obscure it by its garb of language. Here, as
in most matters of learning, the middle course is the
safest; for prolixity not only injures the sense to the
attentive hearer, but it wearies most persons so that
they become inattentive, and forget the former part
of the argument or statement before the whole is
presented.
Again : perspicuity is offended by a bad arrangement of the discourse, leading us to connect thoughts
not designed to be so connected ; and by the use of
technical terms unintelligible to the popular mind.
Of course, what bas been said has entire reference
to the honest purpose of a well-informed writer or
speaker, whose only aim is to make himself understood.
From the earliest times of its existence, Rhetoric
has been made to suffer by those whose purposes were
not honest, and who used it as a cloak for falsehood,
u.rnl as an instrument of self-interest, with which to
entangle and deceive honest but not gifted seekers

entirely a grammatical requisite, Propriety partakes
both of Grammar and Rhetoric, while that subdivision of perspicuity which has to do with Rhetoric
most strictly, is precision.
By precision, we mean the lopping off beforehand
·- that is, before we ttse the sentence-of all superfluous words and phrases, so that the thought be expressed exactly in the number and with the arrangement of words which convey it exactly, and which
convey no more and no less than it.
Before proceeding to a consideration of these llivisions in the order, a few general remarks as to want
of perspicuity, may not be out of place.
Opposed to perspicuity, in its rhetorical sense, is too
great brevity, which renders the subject unintelligible
to the intellectually weaker part of the audience; leaving chasms unLridgcd, across which they have not tho
power to spring, and presenting thus a string of disconnected, isolated thoughts, which depend really
upon the link~ng process for their relatiYe value.
Thi s linking process, which may be mallc for them-

283

for truth.
Thus, an audience is imposed upon by one kind of
empiric, through a want of perspicuity growing out of

lUl .ETOlUC.

QUALITIES OF STYLE.

the extreme conciseness of his style; and th ey say, in
proportion as he is unintelligible, "he must be very
learned and above our comprehension," while he is
in reality, by this very means, deceiving them.
Another, who is very diffuse, is highly ratecl for
that minuteness of detail and richness of illustration
which are thought to indicate the very careful and
studious mind. 'l'hus, a, want of perspicuity is made
a veil for fallacy and error, which arc concealed in
the brilliant clouds of his discourse.
Perhaps the absence of perspicuity most thoroughly
accomplishes these evil results in houses of leg islation; and in questions of factious partisanship, in all
kinds of conventions and parliamentary associations.
It is no uncommon thing for a person whose object
is to speak against time, to endeavour to mystify the
people ; simply to occupy a certain time, that it may
not be appropriated to another, and, to him, an umlesircd purpose. As destructive as this would be naturally to pcrsp.icuity, it is to be observed that the
object of such men is not even to appear perspicuous,
but so to confuse th eir hearers as to keep them in the
vain endeavour to determine his meaning, while he is
thus accomplishing his purpose.
·where, in houses of legislation or courts of la.w,
there is no 1imit of time fixed for a speaker on any
given subject, lik e the one-hour law sometim es prescr ibed in our Collgrcss, this kind of n1i sehicf pre-

vails to a great extent. There are many instances
of such efforts on record. "Whately tells a story of
an advocate who spoke thus at random for six hours,
while a ·messenger was despatched for an important
document, accidentally left behind at a town twentyfive miles off. But this is not confined to oratory in
courts or public bodies.

284

285

vVe cannot, I think, sufficiently condemn those socallcd philosophers, who, departing from the tenets
of Bible Christianity, expressed so clearly in the New
'.rcstament, startle the world by astounding dogmas
of philosophy, and lead captive men too weak to understand their mischief, but who are dazzled by their
arrogance and apparent learning. They are called
'.l'hinkers in this age; they were called Freethinkers
in times past, and more lately they have given to
philosophy the unwelcome systems of Rationalism,
'l'ranscendentalism, and Pantheism. In every case
we only need demand that they be perspicuous; pure
and proper in their words and phrases; and precise in
their sentences; in other words, that their Rhetoric
give clear meaning to the sense, by displaying their
invention in all its logical arrangements; and be perspicuous in the style wl1ich expresses this sense.
When this is demanded, to all men of clear minds
and ordinary culture their "occupation's gone;" for
their error is exposed.
Combined with much that is really profound, this

RHETORIC.

QUALITIES OF STYLE.

want of perspicuity is displayed m the writings of
many of the German philosophers whose works form
even now the very vanguard of philosophic progress.
Nor are England and America without the disciples

sort of " children of the mist," who bring forward
their speculations, often very silly, and not seldom
very mischievous,-under cover of the twilight. They
have accustomed their disciples to admire, as a style
sublimely philosophical, what may best be described
as a certain haze of words imperfectly understood,
through which some seemingly original ideas, scarcely
distinguishable in their outlines, loom, as it were, on
the view, in a kind of dusky magnificence that
greatly exaggerates their real dimensions."*

286

of this school.
A grea.t English writer has most happily dcscribc<l
this school of authors in the following wonls, which
arc designed to compare them with the clear a.nu: sententious style of Lord Bacon:"There are some .qualities in Bacon's writings to
which it is important, from time to time, to direct
special attention, on account of a tendency often
showing itself, a.nd not least at the present day, to
regard with excessive admiration writers of a completely opposite character, those of a mystical, clim,
half-intelligible kind of affected grandeur.
"It is well known what a reproach to (the English)
climate is the prevalence of fogs, and how much more
of risk and inconvenience results from that mixture
of light and obscurity than from the darkness of
night. But let any one imagine to himself, if he can,
a mist so resplendent with gay, prismatic colours, that
men should forget its inconveniences in their admiration of its beauty, and that a. kind of nebular taste
should prevail, for preferring that gorgeous dimness
to vulga.r da.ylight; nothing short of this could afford
a parallel to the mischief done to the public mind by
some late writers both in Englarnl antl America ;-a

287

It must be premised, before concluding these general
remarks on the subject of rhetorical perspicuity, that
there are great temptations to its violation, and
especially to young writers and speakers in their
efforts to display, what is called eloquence; to give
certain harmony of voice and gesture in public
speaking, or to round a period gracefully, as it is
often called : this is generally done by the use of
harmonious but unmeaning words. The young arc
generally redundant in expression, and if they would
cut away all those graceful periods, and forbear that
harmony, in most cases, greater perspicuity would be
tho result. They would find their boasted eloquence
Verba et prreterea niliil, and might be instructed how
to conduct a new attempt upon the same theme. But
we proceed now to some more detailed consideration
l<- Arch bishop Wlrntcly's annotations of Bacon's writings-IntroLluction.

IUIETOHIC.

OF PUltITY.

289

of the special qualities, which range under the generic
term perspicuity. The first of these has been called
purity, and is, as has been said, a rhetorical use, of
what is truly a function of grammar.

words and idioms, usually an older form which · the
provinces have retained, while the Metropolitan Ian..:
guage has progressed, and left them behind as half
obsolete.

(90.) Of Parity, as one of the Elcmcnt8 of
Pcr8picnity.

II. Purity, as a quality of sty.Je, is violated by the
use of new words, not warranted by the necessity of
the times, and not framed according to the linguical

l'urity, as an clement of perspicuity, consists in the
choice of words and idioms belonging to the language
as correctly used. '.l'hus Purity is violated:I. Ily the use of .words once gooLl, but uow grown
obsolete, or, as this word indicates, out of the custom
of use. As examples of this form of violation, we
have the singular phrases and words of our old
English writers : eftsoons, erst, sel, rivage, cltilde,
yclept, &c., which may be found in Spenser, and were
imitated by Lord Byron. Although some freedom
may be granted in the use of such words by the poets,
in prose they are entirely inadmissible. Under this
same head may be included words, which arc only
partially obsolete, such as lore, lcen, and similar
words, which arc to be used with caution, as they
cnd:wgcr the purity of style.
'l'hcrc arc also a111oug these words of douLtful
purity, a class which is, according to a vital law of
language, coming back from this partial obsoleteness
into full use, because of their real value and our ncccl
of them. Akin to these obsolete words are provincial

law of coining new words. Such are energize, deputize, declinature, residente1·, obnoxious, when used for
noxious or disagreeable, philosopliism, &c. ·
It must be remembered, that as ·science expands,
and is divided and classified, new words must be made
to express and fix the new ideas thus developed :
but even this should follow the law of formation, or
we shall have monstrous words · belonging to no
system, but fixed unfortunately and unduly upon the
language by custom, before we are aware of it, and
so strongly that they cannot be rooted out.
So copious is our English language in words which
express all forms of ideas, that no educated writer
would seek to make new ones, except at the demand
of science. Conservatism in language is the rule J:>y
which purity is insured.
III. vV onls and idioms from foreign languages,
are opposed to purity of style. ·whenever our own
language gives us the words necessary for conveying
our ideas, it is wrong to seek for foreign words for
the purpose; since, to those who understand the
2'i

'I'

290

RIIE'fOllI C.

foreign tongue, it will seem affectation and pedantry,
and to those who do not we shall be unintelligible,
and thus the very purpose of our discourse be
defeated.
While it must be admitted, that there are a few
ideas better expressed in for eign langua ges thnn in
our own, such as ennui, prestige, a propos, liors de
combat, which indeed are becoming incorporated into
English, and in a few years will belong to its recent
gains; and, while certain Latin and French phrases,
proverbs, or epi gram s, recur to and open to our
memory a whole field of thought and former research;
yet, these exceptions only strengthen the rule th at
we should abstain from for eign words and idioms, if
we would preserve the purity of an En gli sh style.

(91.) Of Propriety, as an Element of Perspicuity.
It is evident that however pu re our words and
phrases may be, fr ee from all obsoleteness, all for eign
taint, all provincial usage, th ere is somethin g still
necessary to make them the proper vehicles of
thought-this quality is propriety; or we may define
propriety to consist in using piire English words in
their prope1· sense, avoiding a vulgar use of words,
and choosing among paronymous words, or words
. springing from th e same root, the one which alone
expresses th e term we would use.

OF PHOPRIETY.

291

As exa~ples of the vulgar use · of words; we . would
point out all social or conventional, slang; the use of
superlative words and phrases, to express simple and
positive ideas. Thus, a good thing is "the best in
the world ; " a fine day is "the most superb since
the creation;" slight pain is "perfect. torture;" and
thus language is robbed of its power . . ,We "love"
a certain food: "What more," said a just critic,
" could you do to your father and mother ?" We
"admire" to do a certain thing. "Quiz bamboozle
'
.'
come it over," are other examples of words at once
impure and improper.
But, among the improper uses . of paronymous
words, there are still more dangerous errors, because
no allowance is made for them, and they are often
unnoticed. Convince and convict, presunie and presumption; the great numbers of t""in nouns ending in ance and ation, and analogous terminations,
give rise to these violations of propriety in paronymous words. Thus, we have observation used instead
of observance; and sometimes a· 1nore ·obvious error
in such words as duration and 'endurance, because
they both h~ve reference to ptolonged time·.
If from propriety in words we come to consider
propriety in plirases, we shall here find great scope
for criticism. Thus, we are tol~ that the "university
is the best of all other institutions ; " when the proper
construction is th at it is bette1· tlzan all oth ers.

2!)2

ItIIETOIUC.

A number of similar errors are to be foun<l m
Milton, for example:"Adam,
The comeliest man of men, since born
His son s ; the fairest of her d au!Jltlcrs, Eve.

In most of these cases there is no <loubt as to the
real meaning of the author; but this only renders
the error more apparent.

•
(92.) Of Precision, as an Element of Perspicidty.
Precision of Style, as its derivation assures usfrom the Latin pr<E and c<Edo-consists in so pruning
an<l casting off ,ail unnecessary words, phrases, and
parts of sentences, as to convey to the r eader the
exact meaning of the writer.
This goes one step beyond propriety, in that it
passes from the mere use of words and phrases, according to the laws of grammar, and deals with the
words and structure of sentences as to their exact fitness to the thought.
Aml first, of precision in words.
As we have already se en, the two great components
of our language, the Latin and the Anglo-Saxon,
furnish us with pairs of words, originally designed,
in many cases, to express the same meanin g, but in
the process of tim e they lrnve deviated from this first
identical mea.nin g, a.ml now arc different.
Other

OF SYNONYMS.

2!)3

causes have given to words in our language meanings
nearly the same, and yet essentially different. Among
these it is the office of rhetorical p1!ecision to choose
in each case the word conveying the exact meaning,
and this i~ule is violated when any other is chosen.
Such also is the case when we use superfluous words,
as for instance, in speaking of an action as utterly,
entirely, and absolutely wrong, one adverb has expressed the whole; and the others are superfluous. ,
This nearness of meaning in ·two or more words
brings us to the subject of Synonyms, which must
be partially developed in this place. Our space will
only admit a general outline of the divisions .and characteristics of synonymous words. ·

(93.) Of Synonyms.
'11he Greek words, O'vv, with, and ovofw,, a name,
which make up our English word synonym, are
intended to express an exact identity in the meaning
of the two words which we call synonymous; and,
at first, doubtless such was the case. Thus, to trace
an example: our Saxon word neighbour was exactly
translated by the French word voisin, and the derived
word neighbourhood by .voisinage. When, then, the
English words taken from the Norman French, vicinage and vicinity began to be used, they were identical in meaning with neighbourhood. But circum25 *

2U4

RIIE'l'OHIC.

stances soon began to give a distinct meaning to each
of these words. Neighbourhood still referred to
people ; all the n eighbourhood meaning all the people;
vicinity lost the element of person and referred to
things. Neighbourhood became a more immediate
vicinity. vV c speak of houses an<l streets in the
neighbourhood; but of places in the vicinity of
Philadelphia or New York. Such a process is continually going on with synonymous words; and
those but lately of very nearly the same meaning,
are deviating daily farther and farther from each
other. And the philosophy of this movement is
quite apparent. By a natural law of language,
where two words existed of the same signification,
they were not permitted to be idlers, or to <lo half
duty, but a special service and meaning was given to
each.
By another equally instinctive law, words nearly
alike in meaning were ranged, when practicable, the
one above the other-the one as genus and the other
as species, and thus were distinguished by their comprehension.
Thus the synonymous words, answe1·
and reply : answer is the general term, reply the
specific kind of answer. We answer any question;
we reply to a controyersial one. An answer informs
an inquirer; a reply refutes or rebuts an opponent.
1Ve speak, now, of course, critically, for we know
that in common conversation the two words are used

OF SYNONYMS.

295

indiscriminately; and this is the case with most
synonyms. And this brings us-to the present definition of a synonym. It consists in the similarity or
likeness in meaning of two or more wotds, by reasori
of which they may be mistaken for each other. No.:
where is the error more apparent than in rhymed
poetry; for here, often the verse suggests the sequ.e nt,
because it demands the use of a word which · shall
rhyme with its last word.
It may be said, and with justice, that there are some
words, which are so nearly the same in meaning, that
they may sometimes be properly tised for each other;
as for example: almighty and omnipotent; happiness
and felicity; forerunner and precursor; pastor and
slteplterd; but even in these, a ready eye will detect
such difference as would render it improper under all
circumstances to interchange them. Thus, while we
do sometimes call a clergyman a careful shepherd, it
would not do to speak of an ordinary keeper of sheep
as a pastor. It is good Latin but poor English.
John the Baptist was the forerunner of Christ; it
would sound strangely to call him the precursor;
It is not within the scope of this work to enter at
length into the history of English synonymy, as to
the sources from which such words have sprung, and
the modes in which they have become synonymous.
'I1lie existence of several radix languages in our own,
is the largest source, and the changing circumstances

HllETOlUC.

OF SYNONYMS.

and relations at home and abroad, of the Engli sh
people, have supplied the modes. One very suggestive instance may be borrowed from an eminent philologist, as an illustration, in the synonyms of our
English word trielc. 1'he word is from the Saxon,
and has the following synonyms: artifice, (artificium,
Latin) ; device (devisa, I tali an) ; stratagem (a-rpa.Ta,yE µ°',
Greek); finesse, French. Here are five words, sometimes, at least, used interchangeably. It concerns
us however more, to observe a practical division of
synonyms, arranged acconling to their quality. 1'hc
best division is as follows, and many examples, which
we have not time to give, will readily suggest themselves to the student.
I. Generic and specific.
II. Active and passive.
III. Intensity (greater or less).
IV. Positive and negative.
V. Miscellaneous.
I. Under the head of Generic and iS};ecijic, a much
larger number of words may be pbccd than at first
would seem practicable. A genus, it will Le oLscrvo<l,
is always placed above, and cornprchcmls the species.
A few examples will best illustrate our meaning:
Take the words applause and praise; an examination
of these will prove that praise is the general expression, and applause the particular kind of praise.
Vv e may in our hearts praise God for his mercy allll

loving kindness, but we do not applaud him; out
applause is confined to public demonstrations of
praise to man.

29G

297

So the verbs to do and to make, which in many languages are expressed, in part at least, by the same
word,-(facio in Latin; faire in French; hacer in
Spanish, &c.), are justly in English ranged under
this head ; to do being the general term, of which to
make is the particular kind of action or doing. We
do good or evil; we rnalce houses or plans.
Bonds (Ang. Sax., bindan, to bind), are whatever
restricts our liberty: fetters (Sax. freter), means what
binds the f eet. Additional examples, which the student may explain, are found in the words booty and
prey; conduct and behaviour; haste and hurry; news
and tidings; safety and security; shape and form; to
bring and to fetch; to expect and to hope.
II. In using the words active and passive, to indicate a division of synonyms, we reject the exact
grammatical meaning of these words, and refer to
the sense of the words as implying a power to do or
to receive by another's action.
Thus, a reasonable being is one who acts according
to the dictates of his reason; a rational being is one
only who possesses reason, not considered as using it.
Ability means power to do, capacity power to receive,
and yet both are used as implying active talent.
Keep and retain. "\Ve are said to lceep a thing by

- - - - - . - , - - - - - -- --

- - - - - -- - - - -·

b

-·s ·

'-ert'n

-

..

.--fl!.&.. -· -

RHETORIC.

OF SYNONYMS.

the use of our own sagacity and shcngth; we retain
it because of a want of sagacity and strength in
others to ta,ke it from us. Further examples are as
follow :-aversion and antipathy; intellect and understanding; to eat and to f eed ; to persevere and to persist; likely and probable; poetic and poetical; historic
and historical; thankful and grateful.
III. The natural principle of greater or less intensity has been mentioned as a practical division of
synonymy. vVitl10ut dwelling upon the fact that
everywhere in nature this principle presents itself to
us; in the changing t emperature, the force of the
air, the violence of the storm, the fury of ocean, we
shall only illustrate it by mentioning a few words
which mark its presence. Grand and sublim e; bright
and brilliant; the words used in climax in Lord
Byron's line;-" breeze, or gale, or storrn;" to see and
to loolc; to hear and to listen.
The pageant was grand; but the thunder-storm in
the Alps was sublime). I saw the man, but did not
loolc at hiin carefully; I heard them talking, but did
not listen to what they were saying. As examples
for practice, take the words anguish and agony; compunction and remorse). pertinacity and obstinacy). servant and slave ; to lament and to deplore). to satisfy
and to satiate; silent and taciturn; by and witlt; middle and midst.
IV. Under the head of positive and ne:;ative sy110-

nyms, we range words in which the ' same idea exists,
but positively in one, and negatively in the other;
thus, we shun a thing upon which we have absolutely
come, by a positive act; we avoid it by not going
near it, or in its way. · Afault is a positive error; a
defect is something wanting in the nature of construction of a man or machine ; and the want of which
makes an error. Despair is positive, at least in its
present meaning, for its etymology would teach us
otherwise; hopelessness is negative. He who despairs,
once was possessed of hope, now lost ; the hopeless
man may have been always without it as he is now.
Additional examples · are found in '· the following
'vords :-Disability ·and inability; disbelief and unbelief; freedom and liberty; to permit and to allow; to
prevent and to hinder; barbarous and inhuman ; excessive and immoderate.
V. The last category in which synonyms may be
placed for purposes of reference, is that of miscellaneous, which is evidently an arrangement for the
sake of convenience; in this will be ·included those
words of like meaning which baffie all our efforts to
classify them under the preceding heads. · ~hus :
brute and beast; consequence and result } contest and
conflict; discretion and prudence. Every wild animal is, in common language, a brute~· a tame one is
a beast. A consequence follows an event, or an action
as an antecedent, as necessary to ·it: a result is an

298

2U9

300

ltlIETOlllC.

301

OF SYNONYMS.

expected or sought-after production of a combination
designed to produce it. Disgrace is the consequence
of intemperance; but 20 is the result of 10
10.
As further examples we may state, a fault and a mist alee; an idea and a notion; to abbreviate and to
ab1·idge; vengeance and re venge J. to conJecture and to
guess J. hurry and despatch; to copy and to imitate;
eve1·y and each; alone and only.

+

It has only been deemed necessary to give here a
brief outline of synonymy, in order to proceed intelligently to the consideration of rhetorical precision
as belonging to a perspicuous style. '.:l1ho extended
study of synonyms opens to us the study of tho languages from which our own is derived, and the philology of these languages, and presents a field to
cultivate, which· demands labour, time, and difficulty;
but enough may be learned by tho use of any good
etymological dictionary, and a strict attention to tho
usage of those ·who arc the best speakers and writers
in modern times, to make us habitually precise in
our language, and to insure, thus far at least, perspicuity to our style. A habitual effort to be precise in
speech begets such a delicacy of critical observation
that we find it diflicnlt :uul painful to be otherwise
than precise.
'.:l1o return now to the laws of precision as an clement
of perspicuity in style, we remark, that the first violation of it consists in the misuse of synonymous terms;

this has been clearly indicated in the preceding pages;
let us give a few exam pl es ;-If we should say the great
fault in Cresar's character was a want of humanity,
and his ambition was an equally great defect; \Ve
should have misused the words fault and defect.
Tho words teach and learn, are very frequently
misapplied, although in more . modern times this
misapplication is unpardonable.
teach a lesson
to a person ; we learn a lesson from a person. In
tho time of Shakspeare, the two . words were used
interchangeably, as, in the '.:l1empest, Caliban is made
to say:-

we

"You taught me language; and my profit on't
Is, I know how to curse ; the red plague rid you,
For learning me your language."

But modern usage, finding two distinct fields for
these words, · has given them, each, its separate
service. But these are suggestive only of the many
instances of words in the English language, which
are used indiscriminately as synonyms, by careless
&ml ignorant writers, and which rob their productions
of that precision necessary to their entire perspicuity.
But again, since precision requires that the language used, do no more nor less than convey the
exact thought of the writer, it seems evident as an
axiom, that all unnecessary words should be rejected ;
thus ;-cntfrely perfect, would imply that there might
2G

302

llHETORIC.

be things pe1fect and still not entirely so: "The cup
was as full as it could hold," is a common phrase ~ in
which the latter words are manifestly unnecessary,
since if it be full it can hold no rnore, and the one
word full describ e~ its condition entirely.
It is evident that two things are requisite to the
attainment of precision in writing :-First, to und erstand clearly the subject to be pr-esented; to state
clearly in the mind every proposition and argument
which make up the discourse, before couching it in
language; and Second, to understand perfectly the
meaning, force, and comprehension of the words
which we use in expressing them.
But it ha,s been al so said, th at precision has to do
with the structure of sentences, as well as the use of
words. Not only, then, must a sentence be grammatically correct, but it must also convey the exact
m eaning of the author in this grammatical lan gua ge.
'Ve shall only lay down a few gen eral rules on this
subj ect.

(94.) Of the Structure of Sentences.
Pre cision (lcmands, th at there be no amb?"g uity in
the sentence ; and this ambiguity arises, 11s we lrnvo
seen from th e use of improper words, or, as we now
proceed to show, from their being so put togeth er as
to confuse or deceive. It is this putting toge th er
whi ch we consider in the stl'ucture of sentences.

OF THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

303

By a sentence is meant, a -collection of words
containing a finished sense, and ended with a colon or
p eriod; and a paragraph is a collection of sentences
bearing upon the same immediate topic of the discourse.
But sentences are simple or compound; long or slzort;
and these characteristics affect style. Short epigrammatic sentences, each containing an independent
proposition, give a cheerfulness and even brilliancy
to composition. Long and complex sentences sometimes impart dignity to discourse, but often weary
the hearer. Sentences fail of attaining perspicuity
in many ways ; some of these we shall now explain.
I. By a bad arrangement of the. words, perspicuity
is lost. The placing of a qualifying · clause or
member of the sentence, in a wrong place, alters the
meaning; or at least, if we .understand it, makes a
glaring fault: thus: "I set out upon the road, which
my brother had taken, with four post horses." This
should have been rendered: "I set out, with four post
horses, upon the road my brother had taken."
II. The perspicuity of a senten9e is destroyed by
using the same word more than ·once in different
senses. Thus : " They were persons of such moderate
intellects before they were impaired by their passions."
~I1he second th ey refers to intellects; but it might be
referred to persons; and thus the sense is doubtful. ,
III. 1,he misuse of . the relative pronouns, wlzo,
which, what, whose, gives rise to obscurity. Thus

30·1

IUIETORIC.
OF THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

in the Nicene Cree<l, we have the confession made :
"I believe in the Holy Ghost, the Lord and giver of
Life, who procee<leth from the Father and the Son ;
who, with the Father and Son together, is worshipped
and glorified; whose kingdom shall have no end."
The ambiguity here is the more astonishing, wh en
we remember that one design of the council in
making this creed was to prove the personality,
divinity, and co-equality of the Holy Spirit, and the
boundl ess scope of his unending kingdom.
Analogous to this is the question put by Our Lord
to Simon Peter, in the words : " Simon, son of Jon as,
lovest thou me more than these?" Here the sense is
extremely doubtful, for it may mean to ask, whether
Simon loved Christ better than he di<l his fellow disciples, or whether he loved his Lor<l better than they
did. rrhe inflection, which marks the case in the original Greek, removes the ambiguity. An example
of this is also found in vVolsey's repentant speech:"Had I but .served my God with l1alf the zeal
I served my kin g, he would not, in mine nge,
Have left me naked t.o mine ene mies ."

No one doubts that the reference of the pronoun he
is to "my God;" but there is another meaning, n.rnl
it is that the king had such a regard for others who
served God properly, that if Wolsey had done so, the
lcing would have protected him in his afJlictions.

305

IV. But the perspicuity ~f a sentence or a paragraph is also dependent upon its unity. This implies
a clear connection between the principal governing
word and the rest of the sentence. Take the following as a violation:"When we were about to go, they put into my hands
a bundle of books, and when I undid them, they
proved to be exactly what I wanted."
V. What remains to be said concerning the structure of a sentence is but little. It should not be too
long and crowded: the parts of it should be distinct
and clearly consecutive, and those subjects or thoughts
which are in any degree disconnected from each
other, and incongruous, should be kept apart ; in all
such cases, let .a long and crowded sentence be cut
up into shorter and more congruous ones, and the
perspicuity is increased at once. It should also be
observed, that what is purely parenthetical, comes in
only occasionally with pleasure to the hearer; a parenthetical style offends by its disjointed character,
and should be carefully avoided. And finally, a sentence should be fairly and completely finished; and
when brought to what may be deemed the proper
close, the sense of the sentence is injured, and the
taste of the reader displeased, by some weak afterthought which is lugged in to spoil a well arranged
close.
Some writers have thought necessary, after dwell:2G *

U

-OF ,ENERGY.

30G

307

lUIETOlUC.

ing upon the necessity of precision, to give a kind
of counter-warning to their pupils against such a,
cutting away of words and phrases, as to make their
diction barren and dry. It must be observed that
this is not only an unnecessary cautiou, but an evil
one; for precision has no quarrel with elegance and

energy, but is compatible with proper ornaments, and
only guards against the improper use of words aml
phrases in the expression of thought.
And here it shoultl be said, that J.ifferent kinds of
discourse, that is, designe<l. for <lifferent purposes,
antl requiring different styles, might seem so to treat
the laws.of precision as to make that a vio1::ttion in
one instance, which in another woultl not be so. 'rhus
an abstract statement of a scientific problem would
require the greatest conciseness, antl would admit of
no repetition ; while a discourse to little children or
uneducated people, would abountl in repetitions and
recurrences; would require several ways or modes of
expressing the same truth, an<l tho trial of various
words to express the same thought, until the one
which would convey it to the hearer should be happily
found. All this circumlocution would, in such a case,
be an attempt to be precise. It is true, in this latter
case, the general laws of precision are violated; but
even in their violation, they are kept ever in sight,
an<l. tho whole discourse being an experimental attempt
to convey instruction, the result only must be sub-

jected to criticism, and not the mode of reachin 't
A ·I
.
g i.
I ietoncal
standard is designed only for fi IllS
. h ed
• .
compos1t10ns, and it gives laws for the invention of
thought ' the procurement
·
of language as to i'ts .
.
'
s1g·fi ·
m cation, it.s structure, and its harmony, in order to
produce finished compositions. A remarkable instance of t~is experimental and ye~ beautiful style is
m the exhortation of the E ng l"is h l"iturgy
, ·
to
. be found
.
m wlnch, since it was designed as well for the i no~
rant as the educated, many words taken from gthe
Nor man-French are first given ' and then , as i't were,
~ranslated, by the Saxon word immediately followmg, thu~ : aclcnowledge and confess; sins and wickedness; d'tssemble and cloak '. humble and low ly; goo d ness and mercy; assemble and meet together, &c.
In the three methods indicated, we attain then to
wh.a.t .we . have called
the first quality of a good styl e,
.
persp1cmty.. vVe must use pure English , ma k e a
prope1· cl~o1ce of words, and be precise in using them
and formmg them m
· t o sent ences accordmg
.
to th · .
eu
· ·fi ·
'
.
~1gm cations, and we shall be perspicuous in conveying our thoughts to the hearer or reader.
The next quality of a good style is Energy.

(95.) Energy.
By Energy is meant that characteristic of a writer
or speaker which interests and fixes the attention

308

..

•ff,.

llllE'l'OgJC.

of hiii. audience, and gives a forcible presentation
of his.subject. In its purely technical sense, it has
been adopte~l by modern writers from the 'EiiEpyna of
Aristotle; but it has been differently named by some
writers vivacity, and as such, its name perhaps more
nearly indicates its meaning. For as tt vivacions
person is one who so impresses our attention,. ~ml
keeps up our interest by his constant stream of hvmg
thought in conversation, so vivacity of style is but the
rhetorical expression of such thoughts, in the best
manner, to impress them upon us.
But there is in the word ene1·gy an expression of
strength, which is the true secret of such an influence
as is exertecl in style, and which is not as well expressed by the word vivacity; hence we have retained
the Greek term.
rrhe question naturally arises, how is this energy
of style to be attained? to ·what is it due? At ~rst
sight it seems a natural gift rather than a rhetoncal
acquirement. And here we would seem to go ov~r
much of the same ground as that already assumed m
treating of perspicuity as a quality of style; for as
does perspicuity, so also cloes energy depend upon
the choice of proper wonls, upon their arrangement,
and upon their number ; but with the essential cli~er­
ence of purpose, that while in the one case we design
only to express our meaning clearly, in the other

01" ENEltGY .

30(}

the object is to interest and enchain the attention of
our hearers.
Under each of these heads many subdivisions
might be made, and most writers, from the time of
Aristotle, have thus divided them; but observing the
simplest arrangement yet given, viz., that of Doctor
Campbell, we shall divide the first of these topics
into two parts.
In the choice of proper words to promote energy
of style, we consider words as used either in their
proper meaning, or as tropes, i.e., words turned from
their proper meaning to a figurative sense. And our
next consideration will be rhetorical figures.
1. Proper terms. In choosing such we observe,
first, that it is better to use a species than a genus,
where either would be sufficiently perspicuous, and
that thus energy of style is promoted. Such uses
are characteristic of all the sermons and addresses
of our Saviour, and constitute a great charm in them.
Such ure all his injunctions in the · Sermon on the
Mount: giving to his teaching a minuteness of detail,
and robbing it of that generality which is pointless
and inapplicable, since men will bear to be rebuked
and condemned in company with many, or as belonging to a class rather than as individuals. " Are not
two sparrows sold for a farthing ? and one of them
shall not fall to the ground without your Father;" 1s
a simple statement of God's goodness.

310

IUIETORIC.

Let the idea be generalized: suppose it to have
been, " The feathered tribes are considered of small
importance, and yet they share the protection of Providence;" and the energy, the searching sense of the
appeal is gone. Every such paraphrase en.uses n. loss
of meaning. . So, again, what a never-ceasing lesson
is taught us by his special assertion, " Even tho very
hairs of your head are numbered." No other words
could indicate this minute care equally well.
!This use of special terms and particular instances
for general assertions, is the distinguishing mark of
all good writers : it becomes with them a habit, n.nd
contributes at once to perspicuity and energy of
style. Milton is full of such descriptions as employ
specific terms. His Satan sits "like a cormorant,"
or is found at the ear of sleeping Eve "squat like a
toad." 'I.10 most minds this specific description is
more beautiful as well as energetic. And even where
the splendid imagination of Milton would idealize so
as to leave groat images in the mind, it is Ly special
terms as distinguished from general that he effects his
purpose. Satan's spear is as large as a Norwegian
pine, fit "to be the mast of some great admiral."
In his colossal proportions"Ile stood
Like T eneriffe or Atlas, unrcmovcd ;
His stature r eached the sky."

lfofcronce has already bee n made to our S:wiour's

OF ENERGY.

311

language, but it is equally true that all parts of the
Holy Scriptures are pervaded with this spirit.
St. Paul, preaching on Mars' Hill, points to tho
"altar," which told that they were "too superstitious," raises his hand towards the magnificent Parthenon which held the splendid ivory statue of their
protecting divinity, when he tells them that "God
that made the world and all things therein, seeing
that Ile is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not
in temples made with hands." In their view were
those beautiful "graven images" which were the
glory of Minerva's shrine, when he declared that
"we ought not to think that the Godhead is like
unto gold, or silver, or stone, graven by art and
man's device."
Many illustrations of such a use of terms might be
given from all parts of the Bible, and in each they
would be found to add to the energy and vivacity of
the style. In this scene at Athens the audience supplied for themselves, with their own eyes, the specific
an<l proper objects which St. Paul's gestures and discourse displayed to them.
But there are occasions, it must in justice be observed, ·where we desire to make the impression
fainter, and where we wish to avoid, for known reasons, an absolute allusion or a vivid impression.
':l1his is often done to avoid a disgusting or shocking
impression, and is shown in the use of such words in

31~

OF HIIETORICAL TROPES.

IllIETOHIC.

times of rebellion, as to suffer instead of to be executed, and homicide instead of rnurder, misfortune
for crime, in which cases a certain sympathy with
humanity in its suffering, leads to the softening of
the offensive word.
Such, too, is the language of innuendo, where it is
designed, by a sweeping general assertion, in reality to
reach one, and only one particular example, without so
exciting the anger or self-love of the individual aimed
at, as to cause him to repel and punish the assailant.
'Vhilc, then, it is evident that a certain latitude is
allowed to an author in this regard, the general rule
remains the same ; and as it has been clearly expressed, " the more general the terms arc, the picture is
the fainter; the more special they arc, the brighter."
Teachers, especially moralists, are apt to err by reasoning with abstractions, by warning their pupils
against vice and crime in general, and urging them to
a caree:r of virtue, which shall be honourable here,
and bring them to glory hereafter. The vagueness
of these terms is neither instructive nor impressive;
the honest learner only knows that there is something
to be striven for, opposed by sometlting to be shunned, and remains without guidance or shieltl against
the real and special evils which surround his path.
Dr. ·Whately applies this, and justly, to "inexperienced preachers," of whom the world is full, and who
should learn in order to teach.

313

(96.) Of Rhetorical Tropes.
By a trope (Greek, -tputw, to turn,) is meant a term
turned out of its proper significance, and applied to
another; thus, if we call a statesman the pillar of
the state, we turn the word pillar from its proper
original meaning of a prop to a building, and apply
it to a man.
Tropes, or figures of speech, grow out of the readiness of the human mind to find resemblances or
analogies between things not immediately connected;
sometimes, indeed, between ideas as unconnected as
mind and body, nature and art. Our language, like,
most others, is full of these figures of speech; our
ordinary conversation abounds with" them; the plainest and driest discourse cannot be constructed without
them ; and when we rise to the consideration of what
interests and pleases us in poetry, we find that figures
of speech have usurped the place of plain language,
even in the works of those who affect entire baldness
and self-denial in the use of language. Thus Wordsworth, the chief of the revolutionary school of modern
poetry, began a striking sentence, in unfigurative
verse:"--The good die first;"

but immediately fell upon a combination of comparison and metaphor in the lines which follow:27

FMW'

314

TT

1

RHETORIC.

"Ilut they whose hearts are dry as summer dust,
Burn to the socket."

And here it should be observed, that the just division of tropes, should be constantly kept in view.
First. "Where the figure resides in the words employed, i. e. in the use of these words to express
other things than those which they properly signify,
for which reason we call these verbal figures.
Second. Where the words are used in their ordinary
and proper significance, and the things or persons
for which .they stand are employed out of their
·,;
proper sphele, or to represent some thing or person
other than th~mselves. Of a verbal figure, examples
would be: :, Th~ waves dancing;" "the laughing
fields;" in which waves and fields are made to do
things belonging to man's nature. And of the second
form the follolving is an example : Attila came upon
south-western Europe lilce a thunder-storm from Asia.
In this the person becomes a storm. A figurative phrase
or sentence is one in which any trope or figure occurs ;
and the recurrence of these in a discourse gives rise to
the general phrase, "figurative language." 'l'hus, the
Song of Solomon is said to abound in figurative language; and by reason of the anlent imagination of the
oriental nations, the Bible is full of imagery or figurative language. From what has been said, it is evident that figures of speech grow out of man's nature,
which attempts to illustrate his thoughts by reference

OF RHETORICAL TROPES.

315

to objects around him: thus, the same spirit which
prompts the Indian to call a brave warrior the Great
Bear, or his beautiful maiden Minnehaha, the laughing water, led the Normans to call their English
king Omur-de-Lion or Lion-Hearted.
Bringing two objects before the mind by a real or
fancied resemblance, they augment the power of
expression, and thus give richness and abundance to
style. In general, too, they exalt the simpler _and
plainer by thus joining it with the loftier and more
<lignificd-and in this way style is elevated and improved. "\Ve shall also see that the subject of our
<liscourse is often much more forcibly presented by
figurative illustration than by plain language; and
thus it must be allowed that it aids perspicuity.
In all these ways, it is evident that :figurative language conduces particularly to the energy or vivacity of style; and for this reason it has been introduced under this head. It cannot be doubted that it
is also an aid to appropriateness or elegance, since it
adorns a subject, and 'sets it forth in a pleasing and
proper light. But it is mainly as conducive to
energy that it is to be regarded.
A single hour spent in looking over a book of
collected poetry, will prove how fully tropes are part

of the woof of verse.
As a remarkable example of successive and world-

OF RHETORICAL TROPES.

316

RHETORIC.

renowned figures, every one will turn to Gray 's
"Elegy written in a Country Churchyard;"
"-'l'he knell of parting day,"
IS

a fine figure in which the day is fancied to die at

evening.
"The moping owl dolh to lite moon compln.in,"
IS

317

.

a vigorous attribution of sadness to the bird of

night, seeking relief from the Queen of night.
Nearly every line of this carefully elaborated
poem contains a trope, and owes its charm to this
rhetorical figure. But, besid es simply pleasing or
giving interest, the trope is often more forcible a,s a,n
illustration, tlrnn the sta,tement of the ba,re fact
'
however striking in itself. Thus, what power is
conveyed in the following figure:"God answer s sharp and sudden on some prn,yc rR,
And thru sts th e lhin g we h ave prayed for in our face,
A gauntlet with n. gift in 't. Ev ery wish
Is like a prayer with God."

Again : there is a, piq nancy in the satire of these
lines, which makes their truth more striking:"Young men, ay, nnd mn.iLls,
Too oflen sow their wild on ts in t ame vc r8c,
He f'ore tl1 cy f'it. 1l ow 11 und er their own vi ne,
:\ 11Ll Ii vc for u:;c."

The fine figures, which give effect to the following
description of the power of Christ in restoring man
from the fall of Adam, bring to sight a vivid and
enduring picture.
"Earth, shut up
lly Adam, like n fakir in a box
Left too long buried, r emained stiff and dry,
A m ere dumb corpse till Christ the Lord came down,
Unlocked the doors, forced open the blank eyes,
And used the kingly chrisms, to sh'aighten out
The leathery tongue turned back into the throat;
Since when, she lives, remembers, palpitates
In every limb, aspires in every breath,
Embraces infinite relations."

Herc the glorious power by which the world, dead
in trespasses and sins, is brought to life by Christ, is
epitomized, .a,nd thus rendered stronger and more
striking, by its being narrowed down to an actual
application.
All the various kinds of figures of speech-and
they run out into very minute divisions-may be
classified under twelve heads, to which we shall limit
ourselves, by giving a brief description of · each.
'fhey are:
1. Comparison.
2. Metaphor.
3. Synecdoche.
4. Metonymy.
5. Hyperbole.
6. Ilypocata,stasis.
27

*

7. Personification.
8. Apostrophe.
9. Allegory.
10. Antithesis.
11. Onomatopreia.
12. Climax.

318

RHETORIC.
COMPARISON.

(97.) Compm ·ison.
1. ao.mparison, or Siniile, as it is also callecl, is the
expression of a resemblance between two or more
obj:cts. Thus: "Pitt, in his governm ent of England,
durmg tho turbulent period of Napoleon's rule in
France, was like a sk ilful pilot in a stormy sea.,,
This can hardly: be called with justice a trope,
b.ecause we do not put the one for the other, but
snnply declare the resem blan ce between the conduct
~f Pitt, and the skill of the pilot; between the nation
m its critie~l condition and a ship in a stormy sea.
The simile or comparison is ex presse d by tho words
lilce, as, and so; and fr eq uently by tho combined use
of as and so.
·
The Scriptures abound with comparisons, as indeed
~hey do with every known figure of speech ; and this
is du.e to the peculiar genius of the oriental people,
and m conseq·uence of the orion tal languages from
whom th ey had their origin.
A comparison may simply state the liken ess of one
thing to another, as :
" - T h e npos tl es,
And the nrnrf.yrs, wrnpped in mrintles,
Stand as warders at the c11Lr:t11 ce
Stand as sentinels o'el'li ead."
'

But sometimes the simile not only states the resc m-

31\1

blnnce, but explains the reasons for it, or the consequences of it; as when the Psalmist declares of the
righteous man, that he "shall be like a tree planted
by rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his
season. His leaf also shall not wither, and whatsoever he <loeth shall prosper." This extended com.:
parison is valuable for illustration, and often renders
clear and interesting a fact which, without it, might
be of difficult expression.
Of the power of a comparison to illustrate, take an
example from Macaula.y: "We are inclined to think
that, with respect to every great addition to the stock
of human knowledge, the case has been similar ; that
without Copernicus we should have been Copernicans;
that without Columbus, America would have been
discovered ; that without Locke we should have possessed a just theory of the origin of human ideas.
Society, indeed, has its great men and its little men,
as the earth has its mountains and valleys. But the
in equalities of intellect, like the inequalities of the
surface of our globe, bear so small a proportion to
the mass, that in calculating its great revolutions,
they may be safely neglected. The sun illumines the
hills while it is still below the horizon; and truth is
discovered by the highest minds a little before it
becomes manifest to the multitude. This is the
extent of their superiority. They are the ~rst to
catch and reflect a light, which, without their assist-

321

HJIETOHTC.

COMPARISON.

:wee, must, in a short time, be visible to those who
lie far beneath them."
Here the general comparison is twofolJ ; the mind
of men are likened to the elevations of the earth's
surface, an<l. Truth is felicitously compared. to the
nsmg sun.
Comparison, being the simplest of the figures of
Rhetoric, abournls even in our ordinary speech, an<l.
is of constant and most effective use among the best
writers in prose and poetry, to illustrate, as has been
already explained, and to give those dolicn,to touches
of thought which invoke the fancy for their delineation. Thus Shelley, in his Adonliis, brings together
by a simple comparison, a delicate picture of life contrasted with the vastness of eternity; it forms a
striking figure:-

figures of speech, for the two objects are brought
together by means of a common quality.
A comparison is often implied, the mind bei.ng
easily carried to it without the word like, or other
index of comparison. Thus : -.

320

"Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white mtliance of eternHy."

And in its very vagueness it conveys a grand idea
of existence in unlimited space.
Sometimes a comparison is a literal explanation of
n, fact, an<l. ceases to be n, rhetorical figure. 'l1lrns :
as green as grass; red, lilce a rose; the staff of his
spear was like a weaver's beam. 'l'hese only define the
colour, shape, or size of an object in tho simplest
manner; and yet, as in the cases already mentioned,
although these are not in reality tropes, they are

"Weep no more, latly, weep no more,
Thy sorrow is in vain ;
For violets plucked, the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow again." ,

The tears here implied as shed for earthly loss,
are likened to sweet showers, pouring in vain on
I

dead violets.
But it will be unnecessary to dwell longer upon
tlie comparison; it will be obvious to the student
wherever it occurs; and his practice will be aided by
observing,
.
I. That there should be a striking and pleasing
resemblance between the objects compared;
II. That they should be worthy of the comparison ;
and,
III. That the comparison should be clearly stated,
for the purposes of illustration.
There are many violations, even among the best
poets, of these rules : Thus Wordsworth writes,
"Calm is all nature as a resting wheel;"

in which the first rule is violated.

x

--

.

-

'

--

322

-·

)

.

_.,.,.

-·

~

'

..._

RllETOH IC.

But frequently mean comparisons arc used by
comic writers, purposely to degrade the subject they
have chosen. Butler's Hudibras is full of examples
of this kind; and Dr. Holmes has been particularly
happy in witty similes of this description ; for example in his " Treadmill" Song:"The stars 11re rolling in the sky,
The earth rolls on below,
And we can feel I.h e raLUing wheel
Revolving ns we go.
Then trend away, my gallant boys,
And make the axle fly;
Why shoulu not whe els go round about,
Like planets in th e sky?"

(98.) Of Jfetaplwr.
Metaphor 1s in reality a trope, and consists in the
substitute of one word f01· another, either on account
of its resembllXnce, or on account of the analogy
between them-by analogy we mean a r esemblance
of ratios, relation or purposes. 'l'hus, if the metaphor
turn upon resemblance alone, an illustration would be
calling a fort a priest cap, or a leaf of grass a spear
or blade. If upon analogy, we might take the example given above with a slight alteration. " Pitt was
the pilot, who guided the ship of state through a
stormy sea." Here he is not said to be like a pilot,
but is the pilot himself. Th e lVIctaphor, aml in

OF METAPHOR.

323

especial that which is based upon analogy, is of great
importance in conducing to the energy of style : and
is in this respect far better than the simile or
comparison, which, by stating the resemblance, robs
the mind of the pleasure of detecting and employing
it. 'l'lrns an American poet says, of the death of a
president in the White House, ·
" What! soared the old Eagle to die in the Sun?
Lies he stiff with spread wings at the goal he had won?"

an<l his gr eatness and death are beautifully contrasted;
but let the mind be stopped in the .contemplation of
this bold figure, to consider that the president in his
elevation was like an eagle who had reached . the
sun, and all the energy is lost, the whole being
greatly enfeebled by the trammelling process, which
insists upon our taking those intermediate steps,
over which the mind would naturally leap.
It will be observed, that while metaphors are
commonly used to ennoble the style, as well as to give
it energy, they may be equally _used to degrade it;
when instead of the resemblances being sought among
the pleasing and beautiful images around us, they
are found in low and vulgar objects.
To this latter class belong those degrading epithets
which are often applied to men, as hound, ass, monkey,
beast, brute, and the adjectives formed from them:
I ha.vc said that such metaphors degrade style; it is

ItIIETOIUC.

OF METAPHOR.

true, they are originally designed to <legrade the
persons spoken of, but it is equally true, that low
words and low thoughts are incompatible with
dignity of style, however much they may promote its
energy.
Keats has conceived in all his poems, but, perhaps,
with the most exquisite g.race in St. Agnes' Eve, beautiful metaphors, which give delight to the mind by
the extreme and yet graphic delicacy of their express10n. The wax taper extinguished in the moonlight,

objects into pleasant relation, renders that relation
more striking, by the character and interest of one
of the objects as part of another connected story.
Like the simile, the metaphor is so simple a figure,
and so abounds in discourse, that we need not dwell
longer upon it.
But as it has been observed that the simile is often
very useful in illustration, so it is also evident that
some of the most delicate and beautiful thoughts are
conveyed by the use of metaplior, causing a gleaming
radiance in the style which lends very much to its
vivacity; thus, a poet, in speaking of Columbus, a~
he watched the moving light on shore, while the
darkness of night veiled · from his eyes the longsought new world which was to burst in beauty upon
his sight when morning should dawn, compares him
and his grand achievement to another hero contemporary with himself, and to an achievement of rival
greatness, although purely of a moral character:-

324

"Its little smoke in pallid moonshine died."

Thus, too, in describing sounds in lonely spots, he
says they
" Come a-swooning over hollow grounds,
And wither drearily on barren moors."

A figure forcible but not very clearly illustrative.
fine figure, too, is cxpressecl in the line,

A

"'l'hou, Luther of the darkened deep,
Nor less intrepid too than he,
Whose courage wolce earth's bigot sleep,
Whilst thine unbarred the sea."

"Or blind Orion hungry for the morn."

But such figures arc, in some tlegree, removed from
populn:r taste by their classical allusions, in which
arc contained to the instructed, indeed, the chief
charm of the metaphor. Some persons have classed
the "allusion" an1ong the figures of speech; but it
is evidently a metaphor which, besides bringing two

325

Perhaps any change of word in the following matchless line of Keats, would destroy the beauty of the
metaphor:" A thing of beauty is a joy for ever."

28

------------------- _,,.-.......

326

-

.............. ........_......~........-~----~~--~--· .. ·-

........

_.

.....___ __

IUIETORIC.

OF SYNECDOCHE.

Often a Metaphor and Comparison combined give still
greater vivacity to style. Moore, in speaking of the
towers of ruined Baalbec, has this very pleasing
figure, or rather succession and combination of
figures:-

hooks. In this latter Synecdoche, swords and spears
stand for all weapons of war; and ploughshares and
pruning-liooks for the implements of peace.
Myriad, in its original meaning is ten thousand
(fivpioi), and is used now, by synecdoche, for an immense number, that is, more than ten thousand; in
the plural, myriads, it implies numbers so great as
to be beyond the computation of human arithmetic.
The Synecdoche is not so frequently used .as the
other figures, among modern writers, but the Scriptures contain many examples of it. Thus we have
the reverse of the form just mentioned; . in Joel:
Beat your ploughshares into swords, and your pruning-hooks into spears.
The coming of the Son of God to put to confusion
the rebellious hosts of Satan, as described by Milton,
contains also a Synecdoche in numbers : -

"Whose lon ely col11m11 s slanu sublime,
Ji'linging their shadow s from on liigh,
Lilce dials, which the wizard Time
Ilas reared, to count his ages by."

(DD.) Of Synccdoclw.
The Synecdoche (Greek, O'v11, togetlier witli, and
ix8Exoµa.~, to talce ), consists in placing the whole to
express a part, or a part to express the whole. '11 his
is evidently a figure residing in the word itself, and
expresses no resemblance.
1. The whole to express a part. This is done when
the genus is put for the species, or for the individuals
ranged under it. Our western hunters chase the
bujfalo and the bear. '11 hese classes stand for the
individual animals hunted. " 1'/ie man is gray," is
used to express that liis liead is gray. llfan is born
to trouble. The brute is under the dominion of man.
"Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, 11either
shall they learn war any more."
2. A part for the whole. ~L1 he ocean swarms with
sails, instea'tl of ships. They shall beat their swords
into ploughshares, and their spears into prunmg-

327

"Attended with ten thousand t.housand saints,
He onward came; far off his coming shone."

It may also be supposed that this figure is used by
our Saviour in his answer to St. Peter's question:
" How oft shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him? until seven times? Jesus saith unto him,
I say not unto thee until seven times: but until
seventy times seven." This partial number is meant
to stand for as many times as our brother shall sm,

329

RHETORIC.

OF METONYMY.

and thus claim from us that charity of forgiveness
which the apostle assures us " never faileth."

The connection or relation indicated by this figure
should be clear and distinctly expressed, to render it
an effective rhetorical aid, or to conduce to the energy
and vivacity of style, which these figures principally
seek. 11hus, the prophecy that "the sceptre shall not
depart from Judah, nor the lawgiver from between his
feet, until Shiloh come," borrows much of its fine
effect from the use of sceptre for regal dominion, of
Judalt for the tribe and people from whom Christ
should be descended ; lawgiver stands for the maintenance and preservation of the law ·of Moses, or the
first dispensation, until the coming of the Saviour.
1'he Psalms are full of the use of this beautiful
figure, and in many cases it runs like a thread of
gold through a whole chapter. It is found at the
beginning of the eightieth Psalm: "Give ear, 0
Shepherd of Israel, thou that leadest Joseph like
a flock ; thou that dwellest between the cherubim,
shine forth. Before Ephraim, BenJ°arnzn, and Manasseh, stir up thy strength, and come and save us."
In the following lines we have states of mind and
body, put for the persons who are in them:-

328

(100.) Of Metonymy.
:Metonymy (Greek, 1wra, together, and 01·111w., a name,)
is much better .known in its use than by its name. It
consists in placing one word for another, which docs
not express or define it, but to which it is related, as,
' .
for instance, the name of a cause for the effect; or of
the effect for the cause; the source, for tltat wlticli
flows frorn it; the place or scene for sornetliing enacted
there; the name of a place for tlte people. In general,
it is the interchange of names between things having
some connection.
~l1hus we speak of Homer, Virgil, Milton, when we
mean their works.
Our Saviour makes frequent use of this figure : " 11hey have," he said, "Moses and tlte prophets, let
them hear them." Of course, the reference is ·to
their writings. Prophetic language is rend ered more
sublime by the use of Metonymy. "Ephraim is
joined to idols;" "Assyria, the rod of mine anger;"
" R iichel mourning for her children." " Gilead is
mine, and Manasseh is mine. Ephraim also is the
strength of my head, Judah is my lawgiver, Moab is
my wash-pot. Over Edom will I cast out my shoe.
Philistia, triumph thou because of me."

"In these green days,
Itcviving siclcness lifts her languid hcatl,
Life fl ows afresh, and young-eyed health exalts
The whole creation round; Contentment walks
The sunny glade, and feels an inward bliss
Spring o' er his mind, beyond the power of kings
To purchase."

28*

...---330

IUIET.OlUC.

(101.) Of Ifyperbole.
The next of the rhetorical tropes to be considered
is I-Iyperbole. '.I.1his word (Greek, v1up f3a'A:J..w, to throw
beyond, or exceed) has also been translated into English by the plain word E:wggerntion.
Hyperbole consists in representing an .o bject or
emotion as of greater dimensions and greater extent
than it really is, much better, or much worse, in
order to produce a striking effect. This figure is of
frequent and lamentable use in ordinary conversation; and has brought into misuse all our adjectives
and adverbs expressing size, extent, or degree: immense, huge, vastly, are applied to small and unnnportant things; .,u nbounded, interminable, to really
finite and perhaps quite limited extension.
·we speak of the sun burning like fire; we are ourselves as cold as ice. -While these are in reality verbal
figures, they depend also very much upon the imagination, and are in so much purely figures of thought.
~l1he design of their legitimate use is to rnagnify the
object before us, and give it additional interest and
energy, by thus increasing its size and its extension.
'l'hus, it large man, whether in rniml or bo!ly, is a
giant; a fine house is a palace; a beautiful child is an
angel. \Ve might continue to draw examplos of this,
as of the other figures, from th e Bible, and here, indeed, its use is always beautiful and interesting; but

12

arm mzr ,

i r

t · mMbm>

OF HYPERBOLE.

....._

_

-331

it is a figure by no means so frequently used as the
others; and even where it has been used, it has been
a stumbling-block to some. Thus, the phrase the
everlasting hills, has led to a doubt concerning the
use of this word everlasting, and its companion word
eternal, in other places in the Bible, where it is of
vital concern. Again, it is asserted that the seed of
Abraham should be as "sands on the sea-shore."
" The land is full of idols."
It has been justly observed that nations, in their
early periods, when every manifestation of God in
nature must strike them with awe and astonishment,
are most apt to use this figure, partly as a vent to
their surprise, and partly because, in the dim light
through which they see objects, they do in reality
loom up in exaggerated proportions. This is preeminently the case with the Oriental nations, who
dwell in the vicinity of the cradle of the world.
It must also be remarked that children and youth
indulge in hyperbolical language to a much greater
extent than persons of maturer age. The reason is
analogous to the one just given ; the exuberance of
spirits lends itself to all around them, and gives
vigour and proportions to the world, commensurate
with their own thoughts and hopes. Children's eyes
are magnifying glasses, which lose their powers as
they grow older.
Strictly speaking, the hyperbole is an improper

1
-

332

RHETORIC.

figure, since it ostensibly deviates, whenever used,
from the exact ti·uth; but the conventions of society
have agreed upon a 'scale of exaggerations and superlatives, and consent to understand them as not really
expressing the true meaning of the words used: in
other words, due allowance is made for the hyperbole,
and the truth is widerstood, though not e;&pressed.
The qualities ascribed to a certain object in the hyperbole, do really belong to it, but not in the degree
expressed. Literary criticism abounds in exaggeration; an author's excellencies are magnified, his defects rendered greater and more glaring, by being
detached from his beauties, and thus garbled: one is
the most splendid orator of the period ; another absolutely the poorest speaker in the world. And thus
the unfortunate. necessity, which seems forced upon
us by the conventions of the world, that we should
take one or the other side in every question involving
partisanship, seems to demand the use of hyperbole
in praising our partisans and abusing our opponents.
And besides all this it is more lamentable still that
exaggeration in speech sometimes becomes a fashion,
a social convention, and that conversation is considered tame without it.

(102.) Of Ilypocutastasis.
'l'his figure (Greek' vno, xa:ra., Lr:1't'Yjµt, to substitute)
consists in substituting, without any previous state-

OF PERSONIFICATION.

333

mcnt of such a design, one act, or object, for another;
in order, by a resemblance, to illustrate that for which
the substitution is made.
Thus, we speak of a person " rowing against the
title," to illustrate one who . is encountering serious
obstacles.
The Scriptures have many fine examples of the use
of this figure : " Come unto me, all ye that labour and
arc heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'' "Ho, every
one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters." "'l'aking
up the cross" is an illustration in constant use. When
we speak of a person who is approaching the end of
his life, we say, "he is near his journey's end;" and
so also we pray that he may reach "the haven of
eternal rest," in allusion to the voyage of life. So
also the prophet, speaking of the judgments of God,
says, "Behold, all ye that kindle a fire, that compass
yourselves about with sparks: walk in the light of your
fire, and in the sparks ye have kindled. This shall ye
have at my hand; ye shall lie down in sorro~."

(103.) Personification . .
This fiaure
ascribes to inanimate objects the attrio
butes of animate beings; or to brutes and inferior
animals the powers of men; in a word, it invests with
personal dignity anything which is before impersonal.
Thus, an American poet addresses our flag as though
it were endowed with life:-

lilllilllllli!-...............__ __ .•...

•
APOSTROPHE.

RHETORIC.

"Bright flag at yonder tapering run,st,
Fling out your field of azure blue."

In Longfellow's "Midnight Mass for the Dying
Year,'' there is a fine succession of personifications:"Yes, the year is growing old,
And his eye is pale and bleured !
Death with frosty hand and cold,
Plucks the old man by the beard,
Sorely,-sorely !"

'l'his figure is of constant occurrence in Holy Writ,
and is especi'ally to be found couched in prophetic
language:"Hear, 0 heavens, and give car, 0 earth!"
"Awake, awake! put on thy strength, 0 Zion; put
on thy beautiful garments, 0 Jerusalem, the holy
city; for henceforth there shall no more come unto
thee the uncircumcised and the unclean.''
Such, too, is the nature of our Saviour's address
to Jerusalem, when he wept over the city; but here,
in addition to the Personification, we have al so the
use of Metonymy by which Jerusalem, thus personified, stands for the people who live in Jerusalem.

son or object; this is of a digressive character, and
is usually imaginative in its aim; thus, we may speak
to a person absent or dead, as though present; or it
may be an appeal made by the counsel to a judge in
the midst of his speech to the jury. Thus, too, God
is constantly apostrophized in prayer.
But it is not necessary that what we apostrophize
should be a living or an animate being; the apostrophe is also used in conjunction with the figure of
personification, in an address to that which is inanimate an<l impersonal. Such is Milton's "Arldress
to Light:""Hail! Holy light! offspring of Heaven first born, .
And of the eternal, coeternal beam."

Indeed these figures, joined ill the form of an address to those things destitute of life, are of frequent
recurrence in Milton, and form one great charm of
his poetry. Thus, in "Lycidas" he begins:"Yet once more, 0 ye laurels, and once more
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and rucle."

And again:-

(104.) Aposl?'Oplw.
Apostrophe (Greek, Mo and 1n:'pE1Jw, to turn from)
signifies a turning away from the ge neral current of
the discourse, to make a direct a<lllrcss to some per-

335

"0 fountain Arethuse, aml thou honoured flood,
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds!"

Ideal personages are often thus addressed:-

IUIETORIC.

"Hence; loathed melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackest midnight Lorn!"

Or again, in "L' Allegro:""Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest nnd youthful jollity,
Quips, and crnnks, and wn.nlon wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles."

Collins, in his beautiful "Ode to Evening," uses
the Apostrophe with fine effect:"O Nymph reserved, while now the bright-lutircd sun
Sits in yon western Lent, whose cl oudy skirts,
With brede ethereal wove,
O'erhang his wavy bed,
Now teach me, maid composed,
To breathe some soflened strain."

The Apostrophe is one of the most natural of
figures, and is especially the language of an excited
fancy. It imparts an exaltation to style which gives
additional energy. What is finer, in effect, than
Byron's "Apostrophe to Ocean?""Thou glorious mirror, where t.hc Alm ight.y's form
Glasses itself in tempests! Jn ull ti mo
Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torriLl clime
Dark heaving; boundless, endless, n.ml sublime!"

THE ALLEGORY.

337

(105.) The Allegory.
This word, derived from the Greek o.AA.oS', another,
and o.yopwcu, to speak, means, literally, saying one
thing and meaning another. As a figure it implies
telling a story, the events and personages of which
are fictitious, but which in their combination illustrate what is true and important. It is ·evidently
a kind of continued metaphor. · The Bible is full
of the use of the Allegory: of this nature were
our Saviour's parables, in which, under the guise of
" the field," " the good seed," "a flock," " a grain
of mustard seed," &c., he spoke of the Jews and his
.
'
own disciples, the Gentiles, and .· the spread of his
kingdom. The Song of Solomon is a series of highwrought allegories. In the eightieth Psalm may be
found one of the finest and most beautif~lly illustrative ; in which the children of Israel are compared to
a vine, and the metaphor is kept up in explanation
of God's gracious dealings with them. · The allegory
has been used by great writers as the means of inculcating truth: Very frequently it is found as a.
pleasant episode in a long discourse, lending interest and energy to the style, as in Milton's '' Areopagi tioa :" " Truth, indeed, came once into the world with her
divine Mastei·, and was a perfect shape-, most glorious to look on; but when he ascended, ~nd his apos20
y

:ms

lUIETOHI C.

THE ALLE GORY.

tles after him wer e 1aiu asleep, then straight arose a
wicked race of deceivers, who, as that story goes, of
the Egyptian ':l1yphon with his conspirators, how th ey
dealt with the good Osiris, took the virgin 'l'ruth,
hewed her lovely form into a thousand pieces, and
scattered them to the four winds.''
But sometimes th e entire discourse is an Allegory.
Such is the case in Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress,"
a book universally known, admired, and understood.
So also Spenser's "Faerie Quccne" is, in its plan, an
organized allegory, carried out in many divcrsifie<l.
a1legories. Dante's "Divina Commcdia," if not
what we would call a continued a11egory, is full of
smaller allegorical events an<l. <l.cscriptions. 'l'hus
Beatrice represents, when taken literally, the soul
of Dante's earthly love; but, in the figurative sense,
Theology is personified, and by her assistance the poet
is made to comprehend the mysteries of religion. The
allegorical character of the poem Dante has made
known to us, in a letter to a friend, in these words : "The first sense is that which it derives from its language, and anoth er is that which it derives from the
things signified by the language ;-the one literal;
the other, allegorical."
Of the nature of allegory are also those exquisite
poems, "The · Ancient Mariner," by Coleridge, and
"St. Agnes' Eve," by Keats. Those who would read
them only for the apparent story, as literally told,

will indeed be charmed with the beautiful diction, but
will lose the entire design of the writers.
There is a striking allegory contained in a short·
poem by Poe, called " The Haunted Palace." In the
first part, the poet intends to describe a man in men.:.
tal and physical health, the embodiment of the .maxim
mens sana in corpore sano; but in the second he
portrays the same goodly structure stricken by
insanity:"Ilut evil lhings in robes of sorrow,
Assail the monarch's high estate;
(Ah! let us mourn, for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home the glory,
That blushed and bloomed,
'
Is but a dim r emembered story
Of the old time entombed.
"And travellers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see,
Vast forms that move fantastically
'l'o a discordant melody;
While like a r apid ghastly river,
Through the pale door,
A hideous throng rush out for ever,
And laugh, but smile no more." ·

In tho last stanza, " the red-litten windows," to represent the eyes of a madman, form a strong figure;
and the mouth, with its "discordant" words, "a
hideous throng," is powerfully portrayed in " the
pale door" of the palace.

341

RHETORIC.

ANTITHESIS.

Allegory is the common form m use among the
eastern story-tellers. ~I.1here is something akin to wit
in telling a man what is personal, and leaving it to
himself to make the application of it; and if, as in
the powerful story of David and Nathan,. it is so
adroitly done that tho meaning remains hidden until
the moral has been inculcated in an impersonal manner, the application, "rrhou art the man," is all the
more forcible and complete.

1t is this wluch gives point to the epigram in many

340

•
(IOG.) .Antithesis.
By Antithesis (Greek, a.JJi'i and i'tO'Y/µi, to place opposite or ag~inst, is the placing of two objects in themselves contraries or contradictories, so that each is
rendered more striking and distinct by the contrast.
'fhus, "'rhe wiclced flee when no man pursueth; but
the rig liteous is· bold as a lion." By the use of this
figure we exalt what is truly great, and belittle
what is already low and mean. In discourse, as in
painting, as everything is drawn with relative proi>ortions, it is by antitheses that we determine these proportions.
In many instances, antithesis is tho principal clement in wit; the unexpected contrast of objects.
This figure seems to be, in effect, the opposite of
comparison and metaphor, designed to show, not resemblance or similitude, but difference and contrast.

cases; not by bringing together objects in themselves
unlike, but by stating, as a conclusion, something
entirely different frorn what we expected.
Such points are found in some of the stanzas of
Dr. Holmes's spirited poem "On Lending a PunchBowl :""'l'lrnt night affrightetl from his nest the screaming eagle flew,
Ile heard the Pequot's ringing whoop, the soldier's wild halloo;
And there the Sachem learned the rule he taught to kith and kin,
'llun from the white man when you find he smells of IIolland Gin.'"

Not less striking is the contrast between what is
expected and what occurs in the last stanza:" Then fill a fair and honest cup, and bring it. straight to me,
The .goblet hallows all it holds, whate'er the liquid be;
And may the cherubs on its face protect me from the sin,
That dooms one to those dreadful words-' My dear, where have
you been?'"

It is by means of the Antithesis that the . best
results are obtained by writers in their passage
".From grave to gay, from lively to severe."

'.11ruth appears more beautiful when we · tur~ directly
to it from the contemplation of error ; beauty shines
more brightly when arranged side by side with deformity. The long and dark night is the best usher
of the glorious day.
2D

-:t

342

ltIIETORIC.

(107.) Onomatopceia.
This figure (Greek, ovopa, a name, and noirn', to
malce) consists in the malcing or invention of words to
imitate sounds; as !turly-burly, to indicate confused
but turbulent sounds; d1'.d-der-ruin-dum-dum, to express the sound of a drum; mew and purr, to imitate
a cat; bow wow, for a dog; rat-tat-tat, to mark the
knocktng at a door. It is by the use of this figure
that words were originally fonned in imitation of the
sound, as the roar of the tempest, or whistle of the
wind ; the buzzing of the bee ; the booming of the
cannon, &c. ; and some persons have the faculty, in
the use of this figure, of coining such words for present use. I~ is, however, a dangerous power, and
should be ve;y ~pari11gly used.

(108.) Clinwx .
The last figure mentioned, and the one which will
close our consideration of figurative language as conducive to the energy of style, is Climax. 'fhis word is
derived from the Greek word x'J.. ipa~, which means a
stair or ladder. It consists in passing from the
weakest or least striking statements, the words or
members of a sentence or paragraph, successively to
those which are stronger, and reserving the strongest
for the last.

CLIMAX.

. 343

When the reverse or" this process is made, the
figure is called an anti-climax. Sometimes the short
succession of sentences, in which the last idea is
constantly repeated in connection with a new one,
called in logic a clzain argument, is denominated a
climax.
A fine illustration of this figure, is found in a
recent volume of Bancroft's History of the · United
States. It is the effect of the battle of Lexington:"Darkness closed upon the country and upon the
town, but it was no night for sleep. Heralds on
swift relays of horses transmitted the war-message
from hand to hand, till village repeated it to village;
the sea to the . backwoods ; the plains . to the highlands ; and it was never suffered to droop, till it had
been borne north, and south, . and eaBt, and west,
throughout the land. It spread over the bays that
receive the Saco and the Penobscot.
Its loud
reveille broke the rest of the trappers of New
Hampshire, and ringing the bugle notes from peak to
peak, oyerleapt the Green Mountains, swept onward
to Montreal, and descended the ocean river, till the
responses were echoed from the cliffs of Quebec.
The hills along the Hudson told to one another the
tale. As the summons hurried to the south, it was
one day at New York; in one more at Philadelphia;
the next it lighted a watch-fire at Baltimore; thence
it waked an answer at Annapolis. Crossing the

344

IUIETORIC.

Potomac near Mount Vernon, it was sent forward
without a halt to 1'Villiamsburgh. It traversed the
Dismal Swamp to Nansemond along the route of the
first emigrants to North Carolina. It moved onwards
and still onwards through boundless groves of evergreen to Newbern and to Wilmington. 'For God 's
sake, forward it by night and by day,' wrote Cornelius Harnett, by the express which sped for Brunswick. Patriots of South Carolina caught up its tones
at the border, and despatched it to Charleston, and
through pines, and palmettocs, and moss-clad livcoaks, still further ho the south, till it resounded
among the New England settlements beyond the Savannah. Hillsborough and the Mecklenburg district
of North Carolina rose in triumph, now that their
wearisome uncertainty had its end. 'l'he Blue Ridge
took up the voice and made it heard from one end to
the other of the valley of Virginia. '.l'he Alleghenies,
as they listened, opened their barriers that the 'loud
call' might pass through to the hardy riflemen on t_he
Holston, the 1Vatauga, and the :French Broad.
Ever renewing its strength, powerful enough even to
create a commonwealth, it breathed its inspiring
word to the first settlers of Kentucky; so that hunters who made their halt in the matchless valley of
the Elkhorn, commemorated the nineteenth day of
April by naming their encampment LEXINGTON."
Some writers have included among the figures of

CLIMAX.

·345

speech, the Interrogation, the Exclamation, and the
Repetition ; but they are only inverted or excited
forms of plain speech, and can hardly be; in justice,
classed under the head of figurative language.. The
Interrogation is, indeed, more forcible than the mere
indicative form : -

·,

"In joyous youth, what soul hath never known
Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious with his own?"

And so in the Bible this figure imparts energy and
animation to the style : ·-"Who hath believed our
report? and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?"
Here it is designed to express how few have believed or seen the power of God.
The Exclamation is a very natural form expressing
astonishment, fear, or high emotion; .it is · used in
apostrophe constantly, and sometimes merely to give
greater force to the expression; as in the sentence,
"How beautiful upon the mountains are the .feet of
him who bringeth glad ·tidings, who 'publisheth
peace.I"
'.l'he Repetition consists in saying, with vigour of
language and manner, the same word or sentence
over again ; implying that it is of such great importance as to demand a special consideration and reception.
From what has been said, it will be seen that figu-

346

CLIMAX.

RHETORIC.

rative Janguage is not only conducive to the beauty
of style, and thus forms a part of rhetorical resthetics,
but, what is of more importance, that it aids in the
c1ear and energetic expression of our thoughts.
A knowledge of the proper use of figures, and the
laws which govern them, is of great importance in
determining the exact meaning of the author. 'l'hus
without such knowledge it is impossible justly to appreciate the prophetic language of the Bible, couched,
as it usually is, in terms of all the figures we have
mentioned. And as we have shown, most of our
Saviour's teaching while on earth was also given in
the form of allegory or parable, and abounds with
the other figures of speech.
In many cases, in poetry, the whole meaning of
the poem is made to turn upon one prominent figure ;
as in the beautiful verses of Longfellow, entitled
"Sea Weed," in which the first part describes the
stormy deep : " When descends on the Atlantic,
The gigant.ic
Storm wind of the equinox,
La.ndwanl in his wrath he scourges
The toiling f'nrgcs,
Laden wit.It sea-weed from the rocks;

And in the second "·e have this applied as a companion to the action of the poet's mind:-

347

· "So when storms of wild emotion,
Strike the ocean
Of the poet's soul, ere long
From each cave and rocky fastness,
In its vastness,
Floats some fragment of a song.
'

I ,

" From the far-off isles enchantf:ld,
Heaven has planted
With the golden fruit of Truth ;
:From the flashing surf, whose vision
Gleams Elysian,
In the tropic clime of youth."

Another of Longfellow's poems, "The Occultation of
Orion,'' abounds with mixed figures, similes, metaphors, classical allusions; . and the whole .is a beautiful allegory : for he pictures to us the moo~ as she
passes between the earth and Orion, destroying his
brightness, as some fair saint to whom is given power
to put an end to the reign of violence on earth and
in the heavens : " Then through the silence overhead,
An angel with a trumpet. said:
' For evermore, for evermore,
The reign of violence is o'er!"
Antl like an instrument that flings
Its music on another's strings,
'.l'he trumpet of the angel cast
Upon the heavenly Lyre its blast,
And on from sphere to sphere the words,
Ilecchoed down the burning chords' For evermore, for evermore,
The reign of violence is o'er!"'

348

RHETORIC.

ELEGANCE.

'.l'he moral lesson contained in the structure and

349

express the thought; ·and, apart from this, the beauty
or grace of the expression.
Fitness is, as has been remarked in the chapter on
lEsthetics, a decided element of beauty, and thusi
conduces to Elegance. And this fitness or appropriateness implies that a writer should have something
to say, and means to proceed at once to say it in the
most proper language. This appropriateness is lost
when it appears as though a person only wanted to
say something, and was at a loss what to say, as well
as how to say it.
It is further evident that the nature of the discourse will determine, according to the laws of fitness, the character of the expression: A plain mathematical disquisition will need no graces of language
or figures of speech, while a poetic thought will claim
a more ornate and romantic expression. It is evident without further illustration that a different style
must be used in the treatment of the various kinds of
discourse ; to this we shall devote a few lines before
closing.
But elegance of style also depends upon the graces
of expression, as to the choice of words, which has
already been spoken of in treating of purity and
propriety, and in the structure of sentences, as to the
euphony and harmony of diction, and in the general
arrangement of the discourse, with a reference to the

growth of " The Chambered Nautilus," is beautifully
conveyed by Holmes in the poem with that title, to be
found in his "Autocrat of the Breakfast '.l'able ;" and
it forms another proof of the charms which lie in well
invented and properly applied figures of thought and
of speech.

(109.) Elegance.
'.l'here remains yet the third and last quality of a
good style to be considered; and this is Elegance.
A discourse may be perspicuous, and perfectly
intelligible; it may be energetic and forcible; without
being elegant. And if it lack elegance, to most
minds it will be unpleasing.
This branch of our subject will need, however,
much less consideration here ; because many of the
rules before laid down for attaining perspicuity and
energy, rea11y apply to the attainment of .Elegance;
and further, because in the general subject of rhetorical resthetics, although tho reference was to thought
and invention rather than to language, still elegance
of expression is so indissolubly allied to beauty and
sublimity of thought, that we could only illustrate
the fine thoughts by elegant and graceful language.
Under this head it has been thought best to consider the general appropriateness of the language to

30

j

350

EUPHONY AND HARMONY.

lUIETORIC.

beauty of its entire construction.
shall now refer.

'ro these latter we

(110.) Euphony and 1larmonv.
By Euphony (Greek, rn, well, and ipo'''I, th e voice), is
meant a pleasantly voiced souml, aml has reference
only to sound, and not to sense.
Such words as arc easily pronounced, and make a
pleasant, gliding, or flowing sound to the car, are
called euphonious.
Euphony, then, which is one of the essential or
absolute properties of style, is to be attain ed m
various ways ; thus, the loudness of sound concerns
its euphony; so docs the clearness, the pitch, the
time, &c. ; indeed, the consiclerntion of the musical
gamut is the true key to the euphony of style.
I. Euphony in style consists, first, in the choice of
pleasant-sounding words; and the ear will readily aid
us in such a choice ; most persons agreeing very
easily upon this point. Harsh, guttural souncls, arc
unpleasing ; sharp and hissing sounds pain the ear ;
worcls ending in two or three consonants, as lovedst,
strilc' st, are also uneuphonious.
II. But upon the arr:tllgcmcnt of words in sentences, quite apart from the sense, the euphony of
style depends. ·when, for example, many words
similar to those just mentioned are brought together,

351

the euphony is destroyed. Tautology, or the repetition of the same word in a sentence, is also injurious
to the euphony.
III. But the most important consideration of the
pleasantness of sound, is its adaptation to the sense .
'.L111is adaptation is called Harmony; and it has been
incidentally referred to already in the subject of
rhetorical resthetics. Harmony requires that the
words in a sentence shall make a pleasing sound to
the ear, analogous to the effect of the thought upon
the mind. But in every case the sound must be
suited to the sense; and if the thought be a painful
anJ. J.isagreeable one, the words may also be . harsh
anJ. ill-sounding. Milton ·is full of such charming
analogies. Gray's Elegy abounds in them, a_n d these
attract the interest of many persons, who are not
aware why they are pleased with these ch~uming
verses.
A fine example of Harmony may be found in Dry·den' s Ode on St. Cecilia's Day, in which music's
power is used to excite varied moods in the mind
of the great conqueror. And in the other ode, "To
St. Cecilia," there is a wonderful How and sweetness
in the opening lines :--.
"From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began.
From harmony to harmony,
'fhrough all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in Man."

--

.

- - ! tlllltlli_,_ _ _ _....·Atll•., .. .,

" ""' "

353

RIIETOHIC.

EUPHONY AND HARMONY.

Perhaps there is no more striking illustration of the
adaptation of sound to sense, than the following : -

cultivation of harmony; and we should be at no loss
for the richest examples of its use.
Akin to this is the subject of Rhythm, or the
accentuation of syllables to produce the cadence of
verse. But this subject belo.ngs to Prosody and to
Poetry, and leads, consequently, to another field of
investigation.
With these remarks we close the consideration of
the qualities of style.

35~

.I

"The trumpet's loud clangor,
Excites us to arms,
With sln·ill not.cs of anger,
And mortal alarms.
The double, double, double bent
·. Of the thundering drum,
Cries, lJ ark! the foes come;
Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat."

As a very successful attempt in this study of Harmony, we may cite Poe's "Bells." One almost
hears the
"Sledges with the bellsSilver bellsWhnt a world of merriment their melody fore I ells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
Jn the icy ear of night!"

And then
"The mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!"

But we should transcribe the whole poem if we
endeavoured to select special passages illustrative of
harmony-" The brazen. bells" which tell of fire,
and the "iron bells" "moaning" and "groaning' 'in
the silence of the night.
~rhe English language is peculiarly aclaptod to the

30

*

z

...,.

354

ltllETOitIC.

CHAP11ER XIV.
01!' THE APPLICATIONS OF STYLE AND THE lTO RM S OF

COMPOSITION.

IT has been already stated, incidental1y, that different kin?s of style must be used in the trcatrn eut
of the different kinds of disco urse. It is not within
the scope of such a work as this to give rul es and
illustrations of these adaptations of style. They arc
to be found in the standard "'orks of every department of English literature, and to be leal'ncd by
training our native talents on the moclel of the best
speakers and writers, and by developing and polishing what is natural, without detriment to its soundness and simplicity. In particular, it resides with
the t eacher, by his constant and judicious criticisms
of the compositions of hi s pupils, to give them those
just ideas which can never be entirely in culcateLl by
books.
1'here is much jULlgment required with pupils of
different degrees and directions of talent, as to how
often they should be required to write, and what
length of composition shouhl ];e dcmautl cd. So111e

APPLICATIONS OF STYLE.

355

are quick in thougi1t and slow 'in expression; some
the reverse ; some are full of ornament; others too
plain and bald in speech. It would be well, after
judiciously adopting the exercise to the powers of the
individual pupil, not to let him sit down to write until
he had taken time and opportunity to reflect carefully
upon the subject, that is, to invent and arrange the
discourse in the mind, before putting it upon paper.
Nothing can be more perplexing to a lJeginner than
to require him, at a moment's warning, to produce an
essay on a subject upon which he has . never thought;
and nothing can lead more surely to a false and
affected array of high-sounding words, in which
euphony is made to take the place of argument and
fact. This remark, of course, applies to stated and
continuous instruction. As a trial of the readiness
of the best writers in a class, it may be well sometimes to cause them to write what may be called
extemporaneous essays upon a given subject ; which
will test the amount and the methodical arfangement
of their knowledge, and the readiness of their powers
of expression in words.
In many collegiate institutions it is usual to cause
the lower classes to begin with translations from
Latin and Greek authors; and this is an excellent
course, since they are at once exercised in the study
of the classics, and in the traduction of the foreign
idioms into our own language. It is worthy of remark

'··

IUIETORIC.

356

APPLICATIONS OF STYLE.

that this is the form of discourse to Lo observed in
the beginnings of modern literature. Chaucer's first
efforts were translations, and the early English poets
have followed his example in a greater or less degree.
Sometimes compositions are made to include paraphrases, or the rendering in our own 1a11guago the
thoughts of another already expressed in the 8ame
language. Occasionally the paraphrase of prose, by
putting it into a poetic form, gives us a pleasing
metrical form, and an adaptation to music, as in
Addison's paraphrases of some of the Psalms, which
are now usep in mo.st collections of hymns for public
worship ; but the paraphrase is usua11y a weak and
unsatisfactory imitation of the original, in which all
the effective, individual, and idiomatic points ai:o lost,
and tho faults arc exaggerated. l\Iany examples of
the truth of this remark might be cited from high
authority. Thus, we have the fine rebuke to the
sluggard, in the orig~nal: "Go to the ant, thou
sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise!" It is
thus translated by Dr. Johnson:-

versos of Pope's "Messiah," as rich and elevated as
that poem really is.
In many essays or compositions, quotations are
largely employed, and it is a question of some · importance when and where they may be profitably
used. In the main, we would advise that, except
where an illustration is required, the writer should
express the thoughts in his own words, and avoid
q uotatioris ; but there must constantly occur exceptions to such a rule. Sometimes the passage quoted
expresses the thought in a manner more felicitous than
any other words will do ; sometimes the authority of
the quotation is valuable, as when it is taken from
some very famous author; and sometimes it is used
to enliven discourse, as in the occasional introduction
of a few lines of exquisite poetry, which are appropriate to the current of discourse : this latter use of
quotations also introduces the element of harmony,
and conduces to the elegance of style.
Quotations from the Scriptures are always forcible,
for a reason beyond those just given; it is because
they seem to corroborate that which is only of the
nature of human wisdom, by the testimony of divine
wi.~dom; an<l, well introduced, they produce the
excellent effect of giving to the discourse a religious
spirit, which elevates and purifies itself and its in-

"'l'urn on the prmleul ant thy heedless eyes,
Observe her labours, slu ggard, nnd be wi se;"

in which every additional worJ. is o.n injury to tho
sense and to the force of the appeal.
'l'he same tnith is made manifest in Dryden's paraphrase of l\Iilton's "Paradiso Lost; " and i11 111aJ1y

• •
•·

357

fluence.
Of the forrns of composition, as to · the subjects,

· ~.

j

358

IUIETOitIC.

the lengths required, and the details of rnanipulatiou,
the use of paper, &c., each instructor will form his
own system. It should, when made, be uniform.
Perhaps the forms of public documents in our. own
country give us the easiest and best models, especially for large classes, where compositions are
Written frequently, and accumulate in large numbers
on the instructor's desk for examination. Following
this pattern, they should be written upon Congress
letter-paper (in size), folded three times across the
sheet, and endorsed on the back, beginning at the
top with the name of the place or instih1tion; then
the date ; then the name of the student and his class;
and, in the. middle, the subject. When com positions
thus endorsed are tied together in file, the instructor
can glance· over the endorsernen ts, aml, after having
examined them, make his remarks in the form of an
additional endorsement.
0

In official papers, which are regularly filed away,
this system is invaluable; in the place of the subJect,
we have in such documents a brief of tlte contents, as
a part of the endorsement.

(111.) 'Plw Rhetoric of Conu rsatfrm.
There remains but one topic upon which a few remarks seem requisite; it is an inquiry to what extent
the laws of discourse laid down in the foregoing
pages, apply to our ordinary conversation.

THE RIIETOIUC OF CONVERSATION.

359

No one who will reflect can deny the great importance of conversation in the affairs of life ; not merely
to settle the concerns of the family, the market the
social circle, but in the higher walks of professional
ljfe, of diplomacy, and sta_tesmanship; and yet there
are in society thousands who regard ·it as but a pastime, amenable to no rigorous laws, and by no means
to be subjected to harsh judgment.
The subject of conversation has many and most
interesting points of consideration. Its moral character is of vast importance. Measured by that standard which declares that an account will be required
for "every idle word;" and which will be, of course,
more exacting for every false and evil word, it is of
great moment how we speak.
But again, considered in the light of, social convention, it forms a most interesting topic. This
view discloses to us the many forms which make up
the varied talk of society.
This man deals in hyperbole or exaggeration, in a
manner which would never pass current in written
discourse ; his reason is to make himself the more
strikingly interesting; and his excuse is that the
proper allowance will be made, and he will, after all,
be rightly understood. Another annoys us with his
constant egotism, at variance alike with truth and
taste, and with true modesty.
Perhaps the most disagreeable of all is the . man

3GO

RIIETOr.rc.

who monopolizes the conversation, forcing all others
into the position of listeners, and actually haranguing
and lecturing those who are unprepared for such an
infliction. Notable historic examples of this class
are found in Dr. Johnson,. Coleridge, and Macaulay.
And so we might refer to the .flippant talker ; the
scientific talker, whose whole uorncuclature astonishes
without instructing; and the gossip, who lives to spy
out the faults of others, that he may tell of them.
But we come finally to the rhetorical view of con1
versation, and we are ready to declare that all the
rules laid down for discourse apply to our ordinary
talk in full force. vV e should always speak grammatically and rhetorically well.
We should be careful in inventing the subjectmatter of our conversation; we should arrange it
duly, and our language should be a just, full, and
pleasing expression of our thoughts.
The habit of speaking in a vulgar manner to ignorant people, and thus lowering ourselves, as it is supposed, to their standard, is wrong. ·we may, it is true,
find a plainer word to express our thought than we
might ordinarily use ; but it should be pure, proper,
and precise. In many cases of this kind the value of
rhetorical rules is manifested by the fact that in our
efforts to be 'Very clear, we apply those rules with a
minuteness which, perhaps, we do not always use
when we are talking at random, or arc imlifTcrcnt as

CONCLUSION.

3Gl

to making ourselves intelligible. Particularly, too,
should we avoid all slang phrases. Apart from their
inelegance, they foist upon the language new and
vulgar words and idioms which it is far better without.
'.ro "talk like a book," is frequently used to express a fault ; but it is the fault of pedantry, and
not of rhetorical exactness.
The errors of a conversational style are not so easily
marked, of course, as those in a set discourse. Many
a man of few ideas has an elegance of language,
which, to the unobservant mind, causes his platitudes
to sound like wisdom; while the taciturnity and bald
speech of the philosopher have become proverbial.
'.rhe faulty speech of many persons, even among those
who call themselves educated, is a lamentable proof
how necessary a branch of our subject is the Rhetoria
of conversation.

(112.) Oonclu,sion.
In bringing this work to a close, it has been
thought best to supply a short list of subjects, upon
which the student may be required to compose
essays. It is intended rather as suggestive than
complete, and the instructor will readily supply
many excellent topics, under the various heads re-:
ferred to.
31

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3G2

RIIETOIUC.

1-listorical and Biographical Thmnes.
The last days of Queen Elizabeth.
Spenser' s 'l'lirce Elizabctl1s.
Jol.m Milton, the statesman, the poet, the theologian.
Anstotlc and his times.
Cicero the orntor.
Quintilian the rhetorician.
George III., his policy and his mind.
Historic nights.
Historic mountains .
Historic rivers.
Pompeii and its fate .
St. Paul before Nero.
Luther at the Diet of Worms.
l\lilton visiting Galileo in prison.
Spenser and Sir Philip Sidney as friends.
Copernicus on hi s death-bed.
The battle of the Nile.
N clson at the battle of Trafalgar.
Hom er and liis poems.
Hobert Bnrns.
•
The Rosicrucians.
The Scandinnvian Vikings.
Cardinal llichelie u a!ld liis policy.
Al exander Harnilton .
The l\loravians in his tory.
Palissey the potter.
Berthold Schwartz.
God in history . ·
Sn.ratoga and Yorktown.
The Gnostics .
The sources of history.
National sports.
Ancient and modern modes of warfare.
Supposed degen eracy of the present period.
Eloqncnce in history.

APJIOHISMS AND MAXIMS.

3G3

Charles I. and Cromwell.
The English revolution of 1G88.
The first French revolution.

Aphorisms and Maxims.
.l \lanncrs arc the shadows of virtues .
·worth makes the man.
'l'hc rank is but the guinea's stamp.
Labor ipse voluptas.
Post tcncbras lux.
Illa mihi patria est, ubi pascor, non ubi nascor.
H is an ill-will that blows nobody good .
It is a long lane that has no turning.
Non habet anguillarn, per cauclam qui tenet illam.
J<'cmina, ridendo, fiendo, fallitque canendo.
Few persons know how lo be old.
'J'ime assuages grief.
En ough is as good as a feast..
Fcstina l ente.
J.,ook before you leap.
Hunger is the best sauce.
Anger furnishes wea pons.
Acco unt. no m11n happy till his dc11t.!J.
'l'ntlh is the <laughter of time.
A bet is a fool's argument.
Ever vigilant but never suspicious.
Usmy is the daughter of avarice.
Action is the shortest answer.
When the cat is away the mice will play.
'l'hc workm11n is worthy of his hire.
Jl:indsome is that handsome does.

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Honour and F ame from no condition rise,
Act well your part; there all the honour lies.

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Vice is 11 monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated, needs but to be seen;
But seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We fir st endure, then pit.y, then embrace.

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3G4

RHETORIC.

Fn.s atquc ncfas, exigno fine,
Libidinum discernunt avidi.
Non aliter cinercs nmndo j:icerc meos.
Catus amn.t pisccs, sctl non vult tangcrc plantas.
Keep to the right, as the law directs.
Non sibi sed aliis.
Non sibi sed bono publico.

Narrat,ives True and Fictitious.
The story of a sl1ipwrcck.
Only one night at sea.
A journey in an omnibus.
The field of Cerro Gordo.
The baUlc of l\Ionmouth.
Crossing of tJ1e Dclawn.rc at Trenton.
The fate of the 'l'cmplars.
'I'hc fountain of youth.
A retrospect of youth .
The history of a writing-table.
The needle and its story.
What becomes of. the pins.
Dolln.rs and cents.
A visit to St. Peter's.
Life on the ocean wave.
How we roughed it on the prairies.
Trnvcls with a knapsack.

Parallels aml Contrasts.
'l'own n.nd connfry.
Hn.ln.cl:wa n.nd Valley Fo rge.
Lexington and Walcrloo .
Eloquent. silence and silent eloquence.
The deaths of Napoleon aml John Quincy Adams.
Science and faith.
~ I arcngo and W at.erloo.

FORENSICS, OR SUBJECTS FOB. DEBATE.

365

Luther and Columbus.
John Locke and William Penn.
'l'he logic of intolerance and the rhetoric of persuasion.
l'cricles and Lorenzo de Medici.
Washington and Franklin.
Chivalry mediooval and modern.
Crnsar and Napoleon.
Zoroaster and l\iahomct.
St.. l'aul antl Seneca.
The Christian martyrs and their Roman persecutors.
The revolutions of England and France.
American wars and European struggles.
W tn·s of Independence, in Europe and America.
'l'hc war of 1812, and the peace of 1815.

Forensics, or &1,bjects for Debate.
Which is lite strongest clement in forming character, education or
constitution?
Whether an uninterrupted condition of peace or war, in the present state of man, is most conducive to national prospe1·ity?
'fhc right of visitation and search.
Is genius hereditary?
Who are most to blame for the disorders in India, the English or
the Sepoys?
Did Homer write the Iliad?
Cuba.
ls success a test of effort?
Should beards be worn or shorn?
'1.'he relative mcrit.s of written and extemporaneous oratory.
'l'hc cavaliers and the Puritans.
Wns Frederick of Prussia greater in the cabinet or the field?
Should capital punishment be abolished?
'l'hc sword and the pen.
Which is the best form of government, a monarchy or a republic?
Which is the best scat for ·an institution of learning, the city or
I.he country?
IH the i11fluence of parties in a slate beneficial?

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3G6

ESSAYS.

ltllETOIUC.

Essays, JJ1oral, D,idactic, and Literary.
The paramount claims of duty.
Evil habits, and good intentions.
l\foral power gained by good habit.s.
Th e Chrisl.ian soldier.
'J'l1 e Christ.ian gcnl.lcma.n.
l\Iintl-wrecks, by madness, excess, and overwork.
llcspcctability.
Compcnsat.ion.
Fricndshi p.
N cighbours.
l'crscvcrn.ncc.
Muncy-making.
l\Iemory.
Importance of an aim in life.
Influence of foreign travel.
Table t11lk.
l'easant heroes .
llibliomn.nia.
Gothic art.
Norman archilcct.ure.
The elixir of life.
Th e philosopher's st.one.
Home sickness.
Hospitality.
Futurity.
'l'imc.
,/
Eternity.
Enterprise.
Amusement..
Fatalism.
Government.
Di sci plinc.
Physical en.uses aml effects.
Nobody.
Somebody.
~orncth ing ;;I range.

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367

l'aul l\Iorphy in Europe.
Fanaticism.
J~gyptian hieroglyphs.
Heroism.
Patriotism.
Clmrit.y.
l\l oral courage.
Const.itutfonal timidity.
The madness of Lear.
Othello.
Ohl n.gc and its comforts.
Honourable rivalry.
The progress of peace.
Archit.cct.urc.
Duelling.
Ambition.
'l'he dew-point.
The freezing-point.

THE END.

MEARS & DUSENBERY, STEREOTYPERS.

C. SHERMAN k SON, PRINTERS.

