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impression of the nature and strain of that music: Like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant and mournful to the soul.

In general, whether comparisons be founded on the similitude of the two objects compared, or on some analogy and agreement in their effects, the fundamental requisite of a comparison is that it shall serve to illustrate the object, for the sake of which it is introduced, and to give us a stronger conception of it. Some little excursions of fancy may be permit ted, in pursuing the simile; but they must never deviate far from the principal object. If it be a great and noble one, every circumstance in the comparison must tend to aggrandise it; if it be a beautiful one, to render it more amiable; if terrible to fill us with more awe. little more particular: The rules to be given concerning comparisons But to be a respect chiefly two articles; the propriety of their introduction, and the nature of the objects whence they are taken. First, the propriety of their introduction. From what has been already said of comparisons, it appears, that they are not, like the figures of which I treated in the last lecture, the language of strong passion. No; they are the language of imagination rather than of a passion; of an imagination sprightly, indeed, and warmed; but undisturbed by any violent or agitating emotion. Strong passion is too severe to admit this play of fancy. It has no leisure to cast about for resembling objects; it dwells on that object which has seized and taken possession of the soul. It is too much occupied and filled by it, to turn its view aside, or to fix its attention on any other thing. An author, therefore, can scarely commit a greater fault, than in the midst of passion, to introduce a simile. Metaphorical expression may be allowable in such a situation; though even this may be carried too far; but the pomp and solemnity of a formal comparison is altogether a stranger to passion. It changes the key in a moment; relaxes and brings down the mind; and shews us a writer perfectly at his ease, while he is personating some other, who is supposed to be under the torment of agitation. Our writers of tragedies are very apt to err here. In some of Mr. Rowe's plays, these flowers of similies have been strewed unseasonably. Addison's Cato, too, is justly censurable in this respect; as when Portius, Mr. just after Lucia had bid him farewell for ever, and when he should naturally have been respresented as in the most violent anguish, makes his reply in a studied and affected comparison:

Thus o'er the dying lamp th' unsteady flame
Hangs quiv'ring on a point, leaps off by fits,
And falls again, as loth to quit its hold,

Thou must not go; my soul still hovers o'er thee,

And can't get loose.

Every one must be sensible, that this is quite remote from the language of nature on such occasions.

However, as comparison is not the style of strong passion, so neither, when employed for embellishment, is it the language of a mind wholly unmoved. It is a figure of dignity, and always requires some elevation in the subject, in order to make it proper: for it supposes the imagination to be uncommonly enlivened, though the heart be not agitated by passion. In a word, the proper place of comparisons lies in the middle region between the highly pathetic, and the very humble style. This is a wide field, and gives ample range to the figure. But even this field we must take care not to overstock with it. For, as was before said, it is a sparkfing ornament; and all things that sparkle, dazzle and fatigue, if they

recur too often. Similies should, even in poetry, be used with moderation; but in prose writings, much more; otherwise the style will become disgustingly luscious, and the ornament lose its virtue and effect.

I proceed, next, to the rules that relate to objects whence comparisons should be drawn; supposing them introduced in their proper place.

In the first place, they must not be drawn from things, which have too near and obvious a resemblance to the object with which we compare them. The great pleasure of the act of comparing lies, in discovering likenesses among things of different species, where we would not, at the first glance, expect a resemblance. There is little art or ingenuity in pointing out the resemblance of two objects, that are so much akin, or lie so near to one another in nature, that every one sees they must be alike. When Milton compares Satan's appearance, after his fall, to that of the sun suffering an eclipse, and affrighting the nations with portent ous darkness, we are struck with the happiness and the dignity of the similitude. But when he compares Eve's bower in Paradise, to the arbour of Pomona; or Eve herself, to a driad, or wood-nymph, we receive little entertainment; as every one sees, that one arbour must, of course, in several respects, resemble another arbour, and one beautiful woman another beautiful woman.

Among similies, faulty through too great obviousness of the likeness, we must likewise rank those which are taken from objects become trite and familiar in poetical language. Such are the similies of a hero to a lion, of a person in sorrow to a flower drooping its head, of violent passion to a tempest, of chastity to snow, of virtue to the sun or the stars, and many more of this kind, with which we are sure to find modern writers, of second rate genius, abounding plentifully; handed down from every writer of verses to another, as by hereditary right. These comparisons were, at first, perhaps, very proper for the purpose to which they are applied. In the ancient original poets, who took them directly from nature, not from their predecessors, they had beauty. But they are now beaten; our ears are so accustomed to them, that they give no amusement to the fancy. There is, indeed, no mark by which we can more readily distinguish a poet of true genius, from one of a barren imagination, than by the strain of their comparisons. All who call themselves poets, affect them: but, whereas, a mene versifier copies no new image from nature, which appears, to his uninventive geniús, exhausted by those who have gone before him, and, therefore, contents himself with humbly following their track; to an author of real fancy, nature seems to unlock, spontaneously, her hidden stores; and the eye, 'quick glancing from earth to heaven,' discovers new shapes and forms, new likenesses between objects unobserved before, which render his similies original, expressive and lively.

But in the second place, as comparisons ought not to be founded on likenesses too obvious, still less ought they to be founded on those which are too faint and remote. For these, in place of assisting, strain the fancy to comprehend them, and throw no light upon the subject. It is also to be observed, that a comparison, which, in the principal circumstances, carries a sufficiently near resemblance, may become unnatural and obscure, if pushed too far. Nothing is more opposite to the design of this figure, than to hunt after a great number of coincidences in minute points, merely to shew how far the poet's wit can stretch the resemblance. This is Mr. Cowleys common fault; whose comparisons gene

rally run out so far, as to become rather a studied exercise of wit, than. an illustration of the principal object. We need only open his works, his odes especially, to find instances every where.

In the third place, the object from which a comparison is drawn, should never be an unknown object, or one of which few people can form clear ideas: Ad inferendam rebus lucem,' says Quintilian, repertæ sunt similitudinis. Præcipue, igitur, est custodiendum ne id quod similitudinis gratia ascivimus, aut obscuruin sit, aut ignotum. Debet enim id quod illustrandæ alterius rei gratia assumitur, ipsum esse clarius eo quod illuminatur."* Comparisons, therefore, founded on philosophical discoveries, or on any thing with which persons of a certain trade only, or a certain profession, are conversant, attain not their proper effect. They should be taken from those illustrious, noted objects, which most of the readers either have seen, or can strongly conceive. This leads me to remark a fault of which modern poets are very apt to be guilty. The ancients took their similies from that face of nature, and that class of objects, with which they and their readers were acquainted. Hence lions, and wolves, and serpents were fruitful, and very proper sources of similies amongst them; and these having become a sort of consecrated, classical images, are very commonly adopted by the moderns; injudiciously, however, for the propriety of them is now in a great measure lost. It is only at second hand, and by description, that we are acquainted with many of those objects; and, to most readers of poetry, it were more to the purpose, to describe lions or serpents, by similies taken from men, than to describe men by lions. Now-a-days, we can much easier form the conception of a fierce combat between two men, than between a bull and a tyger. Every country has a scenery peculiar to itself, and the imagery of every good poet will exhibit it. The introduction of unknown objects, or of a foreign scenery, betrays a poet copying, not after nature, but from other writers. I have only to observe further,

In the fourth place, that, in compositions of a serious or elevated kind, similies should never be taken from low or mean objects. These are degrading: whereas, similies are commonly intended to embellish, and to dignify: and therefore, unless in burlesque writings, or where similies are introduced purposely to vilify and diminish an object, mean ideas should never be presented to us. Some of Homer's comparisons have been taxed, without reason, on this account. For it is to be remembered, that the meanness or dignity of objects, depends, in a great degree, on the ideas and manners of the age wherein we live. Many similies, therefore, drawn from the incidents of rural life, which appear low to us, had abundance of dignity in those simpler ages of antiquity.

I have now considered such of the figures of speech as seemed most to merit a full and particular discussion: metaphor, hyperbole, personification, apostrophe, and comparison. A few more yet remain to be mentioned; the proper use and conduct of which will be easily understood from the principles already laid down.

As comparison is founded on the resemblance, so antithesis on the contrast or opposition of two objects. Contrast has always this effect, to

Comparisons have been introduced into discourse, for the sake of throwing light on the subject. We must therefore, be much on our guard, not to employ, as the ground of our simile any object which is either obscure or unknown. That surely, which is used for the purpose of illustrating some other thing, ought to be more obvious and plain, than the thing intended to be illustrated.'

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make each of the contrasted objects appear in the stronger light. White, for instance, never appears so bright, as when it is opposed to black; and when both are viewed together. Antithesis, therefore, may, on many occasions, be employed to advantage, in order to strengthen the impression which we intend that any object should make. Thus Cicero in his oration for Milo, representing the improbability of Milo's forming a design to take away the life of Clodius, at a time when all circumstances were unfavourable to such a design, and after he had let other opportunities slip when he could have executed the same design, if he had formed it, with much more ease and safety, heightens our conviction of this improbability by a skilful use of this figure: Quem igitur cum omnium gratiâ interficere noluit, hunc voluit cum aliquorum querela? Quem jure, quem loco, quem tempore, quem impune, non est ausus, hunc injuriâ, iniquo loco, alieno tempore, periculo capitis, non dubitavit occidere ?* In order to render an antithesis more complete, it is always of advantage, that the words and members of the sentence, expressing the contrasted objects, be, as in this instance of Cicero's similarly constructed, and made to correspond to each other. This leads us to remark the contrast more, by setting the things which we oppose more clearly over against each other; in the same manner as when we contrast a black and a white object, in order to perceive the full difference of their colour, we would choose to have both objects of the same bulk, and placed in the same light. Their resemblance to each other, in certain circumstances, makes their disagreement in others more palpable.

At the same time, I must observe, that the frequent use of antithesis, especially where the opposition in the words is nice and quaint, is apt to render style disagreeable. Such a sentence as the following, from Seneca, does very well, where it stands alone: Si quem volueris esse divitem, non est quod augeas divitias, sed minuas cupiditates. Or this: Si ad naturam vives, nunquam eris pauper; si ad opinionem, nunquam dives.' A maxim, or moral saying, properly enough receives this form; both be cause it is supposed to be the fruit of meditation, and because it is designed to be engraven on the memory, which recals it more easily by the help of such contrasted expressions. But where a string of such sentences succeed each other: where this becomes an author's favourite and prevailing manner of expressing himself, his style is faulty; and it is upon this account Seneca has been often, and justly, censured. Such a style appears too studied and laboured; it gives us the impression of an author attending more to his manner of saying things, than to the things themselves which he says. Dr. Young, though a writer of real genius, was too fond of antithesis. In his estimate of Human Life, we find whole passages that run in such a strain as this: The peasant complains aloud; the courtier in secret repines. In want, what distress? in affluence, what satiety? The great are under as much difficulty to expend with pleasure,

* Is it credible that, when he declined putting Clodius to death with the consent of all, he would choose to do it with the disapprobation of many? Can you believe that the person whom he scrupled to slay, when he might have done so with full justice, in a convenient place, at a proper time, with secure impunity, he made no scruple to murder against justice in an unfavourable place, at an unseasonable time, and at the risque of capital condemnation ?'

If you seek to make one rich, study not to increase his stores, but to diminish his desires.'

If you regulate your desires according to the standard of nature, you will never poor; if according to the standard of opinion, you will never be rich.'

as the mean to labour with success. The ignorant, through ill-grounded hope, are disappointed; the knowing, through knowledge, despond. Ignorance occasions mistake; mistake disappointment; and disappointment is misery. Knowledge, on the other hand, gives true judgment; and true judgment of human things, gives a demonstration of their insufficiency to our peace.' There is too much glitter in such a style as this, to please long We are fatigued, by attending to such quaint and artificial sentences often repeated.

There is another sort of antithesis, the beauty of which consits in surprising us by the unexpected contrast of things which it brings together. Much wit may be shewn in this: but it belongs wholly to pieces of professed wit and humour, and can find no place in grave compositions. Mr. Pope, who is remarkably fond of antithesis, is often happy in this use of the figure. So, in his Rape of the Lock:

Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law,

Or some frail china jar receive a flaw;

Or stain her honour or her new brocade ;
Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade;

Or loose her heart or necklace at a ball,

Or whether heav'n has doom'd that Shock must fall.

What is called the point of an epigram, consists, for most part, in some antithesis of this kind; surprising us with the smart and unexpected turn which it gives to the thought: and in the fewer words it is brought out, it is always the happier.

Comparisons and antithesis are figures of a cool nature; the produc tions of imagination, not of passion. Interrogations and exclamations, of which I am next to speak, are passionate figures. They are, indeed, on so many occasions, the native language of passion, that their use is extremely frequent; and in ordinary conversation, when men are heated, they prevail as much as in the most sublime oratory. The unfigured literal use of interrogation, is to ask a question; but when men are prompted by passion, whatever they would affirm, or deny with great vehemence, they naturally put in the form of a question; expressing thereby the strongest confidence of the truth of their own sentiment, and appealing to their hearers for the impossibility of the contrary. Thus in scripture: God is not a man that he should lie, neither the son of man, that he should repent. Hath he said it? and shall he not do it? Hath he spoken it? and shall he not make it good!"* So Demosthenes, addressing himself to the Athenians; Tell me, will you still go about and ask one another, what news? What can be more astonishing news than this, that the man of Macedon makes war upon the Athenians, and disposes of the affairs of Greece? Is Philip dead? No, but he is sick. What signifies it to you whether he be dead or alive? For, if any thing happens to this Philip, you will immediately raise up another.' All this, delivered without interrogation, had been faint and ineffectual; but the warmth and eagerness which this questioning method expresses, awakens the hearers, and strikes them with much greater force.

Interrogations may often be employed with propriety, in the course of no higher emotions than naturally arise in pursuing some close and earnest reasoning. But exclamations belong only to stronger emotions of the mind; to surprise, admiration, anger, joy, grief, and the like:

* Numbers, chap. xxiii. v. 19.

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