Some writers, through heat of imagination, fall into contradictions; some are guilty of downright inconsistencies; and some even rave like madmen. Against such capital errors one cannot be warned to better purpose than by collecting instances. The first shall be of a contradiction, the most venial of all. Virgil speaking of Neptune:

Again,

The following examples are of downright inconsistencies.

The last article is of raving like one mad. Cleopatra speaking to the aspick:

Reasons that are common and known to every person, ought to be taken for granted: to express them is childish and interrupts the narration. Quintus Curtius, relating the battle of Issus:

Having discussed what observations occurred upon the thoughts or things expressed, I proceed to what more peculiarly concern the language or verbal dress. The language proper for expressing passion is the subject of a former chapter. Several observations there made, are applicable to the present subject; particularly, That words are intimately connected with the ideas they represent, and that the representation cannot be perfect unless the emotions raised by the sound and the sense be concordant. It is not sufficient, that the sense be clearly expressed: the words must correspond to the subject in every particular. An elevated subject requires an elevated style: what is familiar, ought to be familiarly expressed: a subject that is serious and important, ought to be cloathed in plain nervous language: a description, on the other hand, addressed to the imagination, is susceptible of the highest ornaments that sounding words, metaphor, and figurative expression, can bestow upon it.

I shall give a few examples of the foregoing doctrine. A poet of any genius will not readily dress a high subject in low words; and yet blemishes of this kind are found even in some classical works. Horace observing that men, perfectly satisfied with themselves, are seldom so with their condition, introduces Jupiter indulging to each his own choice:

Jupiter in wrath puffing up both cheeks, is a ludicrous expression, far from suitable to the gravity of the subject: every one must feel the discordance. The following couplet, sinking far below the subject, is not less ludicrous.

On the other hand, to raise the expression above the tone of the subject, is a fault than which none is more common. Take the following instances.

In the funeral orations of the Bishop of Meaux, the following passages are raised far above the tone of the subject.

Montesquieu, in a didactic work, L’esprit des Loix, gives too great indulgence to imagination: the tone of his language swells frequently above his subject. I give an example:

The following passage, intended, one would imagine, as a receipt to boil water, is altogether burlesque by the laboured elevation of the diction.

In a passage near the beginning of the 4th book of Telamachus, one feels a sudden bound upward without preparation, which accords not with the subject:

This obviously is copied from a similar passage in the Æneid, which ought not to have been copied, because it lies open to the same censure: but the force of authority is great.

Take another example where the words rise above the subject:

The language of Homer is suited to his subject, not less accurately than the actions and sentiments of his heroes are to their characters. Virgil, in this particular, falls short of perfection: his language is stately throughout; and though he descends at times to the simplest branches of cookery, roasting and boiling for example, yet he never relaxes a moment from the high tone[36]. In adjusting his language to his subject, no writer equals Swift. I can recollect but one exception, which at the same time is far from being gross. The journal of a modern lady, is composed in a style where sprightliness is blended with familiarity, perfectly suited to the subject. In one passage, however, the poet assumes a higher tone, which corresponds neither to the subject nor to the tone of language employ’d in the rest of that piece. The passage I have in view begins l. 116. “But let me now a while survey,” &c. and ends at l. 135.

It is proper to be observed upon this head, that writers of inferior rank are continually upon the stretch to enliven and enforce their subject by exaggeration and superlatives. This unluckily has an effect opposite to what is intended: the reader, disgusted with language that swells above the subject, is led by contrast to think more meanly of the subject than it may possibly deserve. A man of prudence, beside, will be not less careful to husband his strength in writing than in walking: a writer too liberal of superlatives, exhausts his whole stock upon ordinary incidents, and reserves no share to express, with greater energy, matters of importance[37].

The power that language possesses to imitate thought, goes farther than to the capital circumstances above mentioned: it reacheth even the slighter modifications. Slow action, for example, is imitated by words pronounced slow; labour or toil, by words harsh or rough in their sound. But this subject has been already handled[38].

In dialogue-writing, the condition of the speaker is chiefly to be regarded in framing the expression. The centinel in Hamlet, interrogated about the ghost, whether his watch had been quiet? answers with great propriety for a man in his station, “Not a mouse stirring[39].”

I proceed to a second remark, not less important than the former. No person of reflection but must be sensible, that an incident makes a stronger impression on an eye-witness, than when heard at second hand. Writers of genius, sensible that the eye is the best avenue to the heart, represent every thing as passing in our sight; and from readers or hearers, transform us, as it were, into spectators. A skilful writer conceals himself, and presents his personages. In a word, every thing becomes dramatic as much as possible. Plutarch, de gloria Atheniensium, observes, that Thucydides makes his reader a spectator, and inspires him with the same passions as if he were an eye-witness. I am intitled to make the same observation upon our countryman Swift. From this happy talent arises that energy of style which is peculiar to him: he cannot always avoid narration; but the pencil is his choice, by which he bestows life and colouring upon his objects. Pope is richer in ornament, but possesses not in the same degree the talent of drawing from the life. A translation of the sixth satire of Horace, begun by the former and finished by the latter, affords the fairest opportunity for a comparison. Pope obviously imitates the picturesque manner of his friend: yet every one of taste must be sensible, that the imitation, though fine, falls short of the original. In other instances, where Pope writes in his own style, the difference of manner is still more conspicuous.

Abstract or general terms have no good effect in any competition for amusement; because it is only of particular objects that images can be formed[40]. Shakespear’s style in that respect is excellent. Every article in his descriptions is particular, as in nature; and if accidentally a vague expression slip in, the blemish is extremely discernible by the bluntness of its impression. Take the following example. Falstaff, excusing himself for running away at a robbery, says,

The particular words I object to are, instinct is a great matter, which make but a poor figure, compared with the liveliness of the rest of the speech. It was one of Homer’s advantages, that he wrote before general terms were multiplied: the superior genius of Shakespear displays itself in avoiding them after they were multiplied. Addison describes the family of Sir Roger de Coverley in the following words.

The description of the groom is less lively than of the others; plainly because the expression, being vague and general, tends not to form any image. “Dives opum variarum[41],” is an expression still more vague; and so are the following.

In the fine arts, it is a rule, to put the capital objects in the strongest point of view; and even to present them oftener than once, where it can be done. In history-painting, the principal figure is placed in the front, and in the best light: an equestrian statue is placed in a centre of streets, that it may be seen from many places at once. In no composition is there a greater opportunity for this rule than in writing:

The repetitions in Homer, which are frequent, have been the occasion of much criticism. Suppose we were at a loss about the reason, might not taste be sufficient to justify them? At the same time, one must be devoid of understanding not to be sensible, that they make the narration dramatic; and give an air of truth, by making things appear as passing in our sight.

A concise comprehensive style is a great ornament in narration; and a superfluity of unnecessary words, not less than of circumstances, a great nuisance. A judicious selection of the striking circumstances, cloathed in a nervous style, is delightful. In this style, Tacitus excels all writers, ancient and modern. Instances are numberless: take the following specimen.

If a concise or nervous style be a beauty, tautology must be a blemish. And yet writers, fettered by verse, are not sufficiently careful to avoid this slovenly practice: they may be pitied, but they cannot be justified. Take for a specimen the following instances, from the best poet, for versification at least, that England has to boast of:

Redundant epithets, such as humid, in the last citation, are by Quintilian disallowed to orators, but indulged to poets[42]; because his favourite poets, in a few instances, are reduced to such epithets for the sake of versification. For instance, Prata canis albicant pruinis, of Horace, and liquidos fontes, of Virgil.

As an apology for such careless expressions, it may well suffice, that Pope, in submitting to be a translator, acts below his genius. In a translation, it is hard to require the same spirit or accuracy, that is chearfully bestowed on an original work. And to support the reputation of this author, I shall give some instances from Virgil and Horace, more faulty by redundancy than any of those above mentioned:

Here I can luckily apply Horace’s rule against himself:

I close this chapter with a curious inquiry. An object, however ugly to the sight, is far from being so when represented by colours or by words. What is the cause of this difference? The cause with respect to painting is obvious. A good picture, whatever the subject be, is agreeable, because of the pleasure we take in imitation: the agreeableness of imitation overbalances the disagreeableness of the subject; and the picture upon the whole is agreeable. It requires a greater compass to explain the cause with respect to the description of an ugly object. To connect individuals in the social state, no one particular contributes more than language, by the power it possesses of an expeditious communication of thought and a lively representation of transactions. But nature hath not been satisfied to recommend language by its utility merely: it is made susceptible of many beauties that have no relation to utility, which are directly felt without the intervention of any reflection[43]. And this unfolds the mystery; for the pleasure of language is so great, as in a lively description to overbalance the disagreeableness of the image raised by it[44]. This however is no encouragement to deal in disagreeable subjects; for the pleasure is out of sight greater where the subject and the description are both of them agreeable.

The following description is upon the whole agreeable, though the subject described is in itself dismal.

An unmanly depression of spirits in time of danger is not an agreeable sight; and yet a fine description or representation of it will be relished:

Objects that strike terror in a spectator, have in poetry and painting a fine effect. The picture, by raising a slight emotion of terror, agitates the mind; and in that condition every beauty makes a deep impression. May not contrast heighten the pleasure, by opposing our present security to the danger we would be in by encountering the object represented?

Objects of horror must be excepted from the foregoing theory; for no description, however masterly, is sufficient to overbalance the disgust raised even by the idea of such an object. Every thing horrible ought therefore to be avoided in a description. Nor is this a severe law: the poet will avoid such scenes for his own sake, as well as for that of his reader; and to vary his descriptions, nature affords plenty of objects that disgust us in some degree without raising horror. I am obliged therefore to condemn the picture of sin in the second book of Paradise Lost, though drawn with a masterly hand. The original would be a horrible spectacle; and the horror is not much softened in the copy.

Iago’s character in the tragedy of Othello, is so monstrous and satanical, as not to be sufferable in a representation: not even Shakespear’s masterly hand can make the picture agreeable.

Though the objects introduced in the following scenes, are not altogether so horrible as Sin is in Milton’s picture; yet with every person of taste, disgust will be the prevailing emotion.