stance to remove, except by adopting a different phraseology. If we placed the adverb after Christ, the sense would still be left ambiguous; nor could the defect be remedied by placing it after death.

She then prepared for the block, by taking off her veil and upper garments; and one of the executioners rudely endeavouring to assist, she gently checked him, and said, with a smile, that she had not been accustomed to undress before so many spectators, nor to be served by such valets. With calm but undaunted fortitude, she laid her neck on the block; and while one executioner held her hands, the other, at the second stroke, cut off her head, which falling out of its attire, discovered her hair already grown quite grey with cares and sorrows. The executioner held it up still streaming with blood, and the dean crying out, "So perish all queen Elizabeth's enemies," the earl of Kent alone answered Amen. The rest of the spectators continued silent, and drowned in tears; being incapable, at that moment, of any other sentiments but those of pity or admiration.*

This passage forms a very proper conclusion to the beautiful narration which we have been employed in examining.

CHAP. XXX.

OF THE METHOD OF ATTAINING A GOOD

STYLE.

THE professed teachers of rhetoric do not undertake to impart capacity or talent to their pupils; nor do

* History of Scotland, book vii.

they pretend to communicate the art of fine writing by a series of mechanical rules.* But as the best talents are inefficient without the aid of cultivation, the young student, who is less capable of directing his own enquiries, may derive some benefit from a few plain suggestions concerning the proper method of attaining a style correct and elegant.

We must always endeavour to obtain a clear and precise idea of every subject of which we propose to treat. This is a direction which may at first appear to have little relation to style; but its relation is extremely close. The foundation of fine writing is good sense, accompanied with a lively imagination. The style and thoughts of a writer are so intimately connected, that it is frequently a difficult task to distinguish what depends upon the one, and what upon the other. Whenever the impressions of objects upon the mind are faint and indistinct, or perplexed and confused, our style in treating of such objects can never be luminous or beautiful; and what we conceive clearly and feel strongly, we shall generally be able to express with clearness and with strength, provided we have at

"Neque enim conamur docere eum dicere, qui loqui nesciat ; nec sperare, qui Latine non possit, hunc ornate esse dicturum; neque vero, qui non dicat quod intelligamus, hunc posse quod admiremur dicere." (Cicero de Oratore, lib. iii. cap. x.) "Taste," says Dr. Beattie," as far as it depends on the knowledge of rules, may be further improved by reading good books of criticism, and comparing them with the authors whom they illustrate. Sound judgment however we must acknowledge to be in a great measure constitutional; and no person will ever acquire true taste, unless nature has made him a man of sense." (Dissertations moral and eritical, 188 Lond. 1783, 4to.)

tained to any practice in composition. This then we may be assured is an important rule, to think closely of the subject, till we have obtained a full and distinct view of the matter which we are to clothe in words, till we become warm and interested in it: then, and not till then, shall we find expression begin to flow. Generally speaking, the best and most proper expressions are those which a clear view of the subject suggests, without much labour or enquiry.

To form a good style, the frequent practice of composing is indispensably necessary. Many rules concerning style have been delivered; but no rules will answer the end without exercise and habit. At the same time, it is not every mode of composing that will improve style: this is so far from being the case, that by careless and hasty composition, we shall inevitably acquire a very bad style; we shall have more trouble afterwards in unlearning faults and correcting negligences, than if we had been totally unaccustomed to composition. At first, therefore, we ought to write slowly and with much care. Let the facility and speed of writing be the fruit of longer practice.

"I enjoin," says Quintilian," that such as are beginning the practice of composition, write slowly and with anxious deliberation. Their great object at first should be, to write as well as possible: practice will enable them to write speedily. By degrees, matter will offer itself still more readily; words will be at hand; composition will flow; every thing, as in the arrangement of a well-ordered family, will present itself in its proper place. The sum of the whole is this

that by hasty composition, we shall never acquire the art of composing well; by writing well, we shall come to write speedily.”*

We must not however be too anxious about words; we must not retard the course of thought, nor cool the heat of imagination, by pausing too long on every word which we employ. There is, on certain occasions, a glow of composition which should be preserved, if we hope to express ourselves happily, though at the expense of allowing some inadvertencies to pass. These must afterwards be scrutinized with a critical eye. If the practice of composition be useful, not less so is the laborious work of correcting; it is absolutely necessary to our reaping any benefit from the habit of composing. What we have written, should be laid aside till the ardour of composition be past, till our fondness for the expressions which we have used, have in a great measure subsided, and the expressions themselves be forgotten. By reviewing our work with a cool and critical eye, as if it were the performance of another, we shall discern many imperfections which at first escaped our observation. It is then the season for pruning redundancies; for examining the arrangement of sentences; and for reducing style to a regular, correct, and supported form. To this labour of correction all those must submit who would communicate their thoughts to others with proper advantage; and some practice in it will soon sharpen the eye to the most necessary objects of attention, and render the

* Quintilian. de Institut. Orator. lib. x. cap. iii,

task much more easy and practicable than might at first be imagined.

With respect to the assistance which is to be derived from the writings of others, it is obvious that we ought to render ourselves well acquainted with the style of the best authors. This is requisite both to form a just taste in style, and to supply us with an ample stock of words adapted to every subject.

But we must beware of falling into a servile imitation of any author whatsoever. Imitation is always dangerous: it fetters genius, and is likely to produce a stiff manner. Those who are addicted to close imitation, generally imitate an author's faults as well as his beauties. No man will ever become a good writer or speaker, who has not some degree of confidence to follow his own genius. We ought to beware, in particular, of adopting any author's noted phrases, or transcribing passages from him, unless when we professedly act as mere compilers. Such a habit will prove fatal to all genuine composition: it is much better to have something that is our own, though of moderate beauty, than to affect to shine in borrowed ornaments, which will at last betray the utter poverty of our talents. A preposterous ambition to imitate or rival the cha racteristic manner of Johnson or Gibbon, has rendered many authors ridiculous who might otherwise have supported a respectable character. The style of each of those writers, eminent as they deservedly are, exhibits numerous faults; but whatever may be its beauties, no man of letters will ever obtain much distinction by imitating it with accurate servility. We generally find their deformities more faithfully copied than