room to them as the whole family were at supper. They began to rise up a little surprised, not knowing what the matter was; but he made them sit still; he only came to take his leave of them. They asked him, 'Why, Mr., where are you going?' 'Going,' says he, 'I have got the sickness and shall die to-morrow night.' It is easy to believe, though not to describe, the consternation they were all in; the women and the man's daughters, who were but little girls, were frightened almost to death, and got up, all running out, one at one door and one at another, some down-stairs and some up-stairs, and getting together as well as they could, locked themselves into their chambers, and screamed out at the window for help, as if they had been frighted out of their wits. The master, more composed than they, though both frighted and provoked, was going to lay hands on him and throw him down-stairs, being in a passion; but then considering a little the condition of the man, and the danger of touching him, horror seized his mind, and he stood like one astonished. The poor distempered man, all this while, being as well diseased in his brain as in his body, stood still like one amazed; at length he turns round, Ay,' says he, with all the seeming calmness imaginable, 'is it so with you all? Are you all disturbed at me? Why, then, I'll e'en go home and die there.' And so he goes immediately down-stairs. The servant that had let him in, goes down after him with a candle; but was afraid to go past him and open the door; so he stood on the stairs to see what he would do; the man went and opened the door, and went out and flung the door after him.” 6 Jeremy Taylor, in his "Holy Dying," draws a picture of a shipwreck by the help of a bare list of circumstances; while the vague hint at the end of the sentence places in the corner of the picture a faint suggestion of the survivors of a ruined family, who do not yet know that that has happened to them which will make them miserable for life. "These are the thoughts of mortals; this the end and sum of all their designs: a dark night and an ill guide, a boisterous sea and a broken cable, a hard rock and a rough wind have dashed in pieces the fortune of a noble family, and they that shall weep loudest for the accident are not yet entered into the storm, and yet have suffered shipwreck." V. CLEARNESS, and along with it VIVIDNESS, is gained by the use of CONCRETE, instead of Abstract* terms. * In a philosophic essay, of course, one cannot do without abstract words. It is more easy to conceive or to present to the mind a species than a genus; it is easier still to conceive an individual; and it is easiest of all to conceive a part of an individual. The imagination is not very vividly struck by the word creature; it seizes more easily on the term quadruped; it gets a stronger hold on the word horse; and it is still more strongly affected by the name Bucephalus. "Again, curve is very general; circle is less so; wheel approaches to the particular; sun, full moon, are individual, and the most conceivable of all."* To gain this end of clearness, the imagination specializes as much as possible; and this process is closely allied to that described under the LAW OF SPECIFICATION. Thus we say red-tape for official routine; when peace is declared, the sword is said to be sheathed; we speak of human life as a progress from the cradle to the grave; we say grey hairs instead of using the abstract term old age, and we speak of workmen as hands. A great many names have been invented by the rhetoricians to indicate this desire of the mind to have something individual, concrete, and specific, to lay hold of, instead of what is vague, general, or abstract; but it is not necessary for our present purpose to enumerate these. Professor Bain gives an excellent example of the superior effect produced by concrete terms in the latter of the two following sentences: "In proportion as the manners, customs, and amusements of a nation are cruel and barbarous, the regulation of their penal codes will be severe." "According as men delight in battles, bull-fights, and combats of gladiators, so will they punish by hanging, burning, and crucifying." People will sometimes say, "He is a Croesus;" "The * Professor Bain p. 54. woman is a very Jezebel:” this is called ANTONOMASIA. Gray uses this figure with decided effect in the stanza :— “Some village Hampden that, with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood." But this device should be very sparingly used, as otherwise it may take a look of knowingness or of pedantry. When we use the symbol for the thing itself, as the crown for royalty; or, when we put the container for the thing contained, as the palace and the cottage instead of rich and the poor; or when we put the effect for the cause, as gray hairs for old age, we are said to employ METONYMY. It would be absurd to seek after this kind of effect; but an imagination heated by its subject, and reproducing vividly the persons and circumstances which belong to that subject, will readily fall into this way of writing. The following is a good example from Cowley : "Cromwell set up Parliaments by the stroke of his pen, and scattered them with the breath of his mouth." And Chatham produced a strong effect upon the minds of his audience when he asked, with reference to the proposed employment of Indians in the first American war, "Shall we associate to our arms the tomahawk and the scalpingknife of the savage?” We must, however, avoid phrases like the following, as thoroughly hackneyed and threadbare: (a) She had seen just sixteen summers. (b) The snows of seventy winters rested on his head. The writer can always feel whether such phrases are his own or not. If he feels that they are mere quotations, he should avoid them. When we use the name of a part of a thing, as fifty sail for fifty ships; or when we give the name of the passion itself instead of the object of the passion, as my aversion, my admiration, our horror, we are said to employ the figure SYNECDOCHE. This device may easily become a source of affectation. In Ossian, for example, we find a person called "The sigh of her sacred soul." But, as a general rule, there can be no doubt that the style which abounds in particular, specific, and concrete terms, is much more vivid and readable than the general and abstract style. "Age, ache, and penury had overtaken him; and we found him in a dirty garret without a bed to lie on, a crust of bread to eat, or a penny in his pocket;" is much more vivid (always provided it be true) than, "He was now an old man, ill, and almost entirely without the necessaries of life." In the first sentence we speak like a human being, full of sympathy, and sensible that we are not protected from the chances of a similar fate; in the second we speak like a statistician, whose business is not with feelings and life, but with numbers and cases. Whatever affects us as individuals strikes us vividly; and what we write with this feeling will strike the individual reader vividly also. The violent death of a near and dear relative or friend touches us more profoundly than an earthquake at Lisbon, a massacre at Cawnpore, or a revolution in Paris. If there is any exception to the above law, it can only be made in favour of great authors; and young writers should not attempt to follow them where they diverge into the vague and the abstract. The following passage from De Quincey produces, perhaps, even a stronger effect than the enumeration of particular horrors; but then, only a De Quincey could have concentrated so much passion into so much abstraction. "At one end of the street were seen the rebel pikes and bayonets and fierce fires already gleaming through the smoke; at the other end, volumes of fire, surging and billowing from the thatched roofs and blazing rafters, beginning to block up the avenues of escape. Then began the agony and uttermost conflict of what is worst and what is best in human nature. Then was to be seen the very delirium of fear, and the very delirium of vindictive malice, private and ignoble hatred of ancient origin, shrouding itself in the mask of patriotic wrath; the tiger-glare of just vengeance, fresh from intolerable wrongs and the never-to-be-forgotten ignominy of stripes and personal degradation; panic, self-palsied by its own excess; flight, eager or stealthy, according to the temper and the means; volleying pursuit; the very frenzy of agitation under every mode of excitement; and here and there the desperation of maternal love victorious and supreme above all lower passions." If we can, without impropriety, employ the terms of physical motion to the operations of the mind, that is, to intellectual motion, we gain greater vividness. De Quincey is especially addicted to this kind of phrase. With him, "ideas lurk under terms;" a danger "approaches and wheels away threatens, but finally forbears to strike;" "the growth of his intellect outran the capacities of his physical structure;" "his erudition travelled into obscure and sterile fields ;" and so on. VI. Another considerable help to learners is the use of SHORT SENTENCES. Short sentences naturally proceed from two feelings: first, the feeling of brevity-as when we send off the shortest possible message by telegraph; and secondly, the feeling of eagerness or of indignation. Too frequent a recurrence of short sentences makes the style abrupt, curt, and snappish; but every beginner, and every person at the |