By5639 — i :'i'f?| '*¦ j02 A K, THE WORKS !.*x ¦:¦> «,' I'Oi^a .¦¦ m^w* HENRY, LORD BROUGHAM, F.R.S., By5"6.3^ "I give thefe Books . : /or 84« founding ef a Collect in this-. Colony Bought with the income of the Edward Wells Southworth Fund,/?/*. Ml ately sur er in , ed to ilf-a- great 1 our o the iliape spousupon ience nati vity, EOUSfcuar- >ages ir the s and phies ived ; , ___ ins of English eloquenee-f maoy of the treatises and articles are essential to a" full under standing of the social and political history' of the age ih -which he has been so pro minent an actor; and1 though hemust often carry las here into debatea'^le questions, the, liquid 'lava has cooled with time, and we may tread, ¦with, the calmness of philosophic inquirers, the ground which was once alive with the htyit and passions of the houri."j£QiHwfl»'iy Heview. . *rf:'v.j> _,,j:>,.> am .... , ..5»L'. LORD BROUGHAM'S WORKS. CRITICAL, HISTORICAL, & MISCELLANEOUS WORKS, To be completed in Ten Post Octavo Volumes, Price 5s. each. Vol. l.-rLt?ES : OF , PHILOSOPHERS of the Time, of 'George III., comprising Black, Watt, Priestley, Cavendish, Davy, Simson, Adam Smith, Lavoisier, Banks, and D'Alembert. . ¦¦>. --..rr. Vol. 2.— LIVES OF MEN OF LETTERS of the Time of George III., comprising Voltaire, Rousseau, Hijue, Robertson, Johnson, and Gibbon. Vols. 3, 4, 5.— SKETCHES OF EMINENT STATESMEN of the Time of George III., new edition, enlarged by numerous fresh Sketches and other additional matter. 3 vols. Vol. 6.— NATDRAL THEOLOGY; comprising an Introductory Disserta tion of Natural Theology— Dialogues on Instinct— ^Researches on -Fossil Osteology, with Observations on the Glow-worm and the Structure of the Cells oFBees, revised.' Vol. 7.— RHETORICAL AND LITERARY DISSERTATIONS AND ADDRESSES; comprising Discourses of 'Ancient Eloquence — Lord Raptor's Address — Rhetorical. Contributions to the Edinburgh Review — and .Discourses of, the Objects, Pleasures, and Advantages of. Science and Political Scienee. J ~To be followed by— Speeches on Social and Political Subjects, with Historical Introductions. - , _ ,.•',>¦¦ Historical and Political Dissertatiqns, contributed to various Literary Periodicals. CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE EDINBURGH RE¥IEW; HISTORICAL, POLITICAL, AND MISCELLANEOUS. Now first collected, in 3 vols. 8vo. Uniform-with the Library Editions of Jeffrey; Mackintosh, and Smith. Rhetorical. Political Economy >.nd Finance. Historical. Criminal Law. , Foreign Policy. Physical Science. Constitutional Questions. Miscellaneous. " The great eharm of the work before us is that it does not merely extend over arrange of. subjects singularly wide, but that every topic along the range is dis cussed with a mastery of its essential features. " — Examiner. "An evidence of the energy, the extent, and the versatility of Lord Brougham's genius.1' — Press. . " A remarkable miscellany of learning, wisdom, and eloquence. •—Literary Gaz. " His magnum opus will be cherished as the lofty legacy of a great mind to a great people."— Illustrated London News. ¦ , PALEY'S NATURAL THEOLOGY, With Notes and Dissertations by Lord Brougham and Sir Charles Bell, new edition, 3 vols, small gvo, 7s. 6d. " When Lord Brougham's eloquence in the Senate shall have passed away, and his services as a Statesman shall exist onlyin the free institutions which they have helped to secure, bis Discourse .on Natural Theology will, continue to inculcate imperishable truths, and fit the mind for the higher revelations which these truths are destined to foreshadow and couflrm."— Edinburgh Review. WORKS HENRY, LORD BROUGHAM. RHETORICAL AND LITERARY DISSERTATIONS AND ADDRESSES. WORKS HENRY, LORD BROUGHAM, F.R.S., MEMBER OF THE NATIONAL INSTITUTE OF FRANCE, AND OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF NAPLES. VOL. VII. LONDON AND GLASGOW: RICHARD GRIFFIN AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS TO THE UNIVERSITY OP GLASGOW. 1856. RHETORICAL LITERARY DISSERTATIONS AND ADDRESSES. HENRY, LORD BROUGHAM, P.R.S., ME1IBEB OP THE NATIONAL INSTITUTE OF FRANCE, AND Off THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF NAPLES. LONDON AND GLASGOW: RICHARD GRIFFIN AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS TO THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. 1856. GLASGOW: PRINTED BY BELL AND BAIN. CONTENTS. Dissertation on the Eloquence of the Ancients, 3 Appendix, — ¦ Extract from Lord Ersktne's Speech on the Trial of John Stockdale, ... 61 Peroration of Mr. Grattan's Speech on the Declaration of Irish Eights, ... 62 Translation from Demosthenes — Chersonese Oration, 73 Preface to the Oration on the Crown, . 105 Inaugural Discourse on being Installed Lord Rector of the University of Glasgow, . 117 Rhetorical Contributions to the Edinburgh Review, — Roman Orators — Cicero, . . . 145 Greek Orators — Demosthenes, . . 170 English Orators — Erskine, . 209 Pulpit Eloquence, . . . . 256 Discourse of the Objects, Advantages, and Pleasures of Science, .... 293 Discourse of the Objects, Pleasures, and Advantages of Political Science, . . 373 Index, 419 DISSERTATION ELOQUENCE OF THE ANCIENTS. The most eminent critic and scholar of our times has, in treating of the author's writings upon the subject of Ancient Eloquence, and especially upon the Greek Orators, conferred Upon him an honour to which he certainly cannot feel that he is entitled, but for which he must ever be grateful, when describing him as " certainement parmi les Modernes le Meil- leur Interprete de Demosthene."^*M. Villemain, Journal des Savants, 1855. DISSERTATION. It is impossible for any but the most careless observer to avoid remarking the great differences which dis tinguish the Oratory of ancient from that of modern times. The immeasurable superiority of the former is far from being the only or even the principal of these diversities: that proceeds in part from the greater power of the languages (especially the Greek), the instrument wielded by the great masters of diction; and in so far the superiority must remain for ever undiminished by any efforts on the part of modern rhetoricians, although extreme care applied to spoken composition may reduce the other advantages of the ancients within a very narrow compass, and give scope to certain advantages, not unimportant, which are possessed by the moderns. But there are other dif ferences yet more broad between the two kinds of Oratory, and these require to be more minutely examined. Public speaking among the ancients bore a more important share in the conduct of affairs,- and filled a larger space in the eye of the people, than it does now, or indeed ever can again. Another engine has been invented for working upon the popular mind, whether to instruct, to persuade, or to please — an engine, too, of which the powers are not limited in time or in space. The people are now addressed through the Press ; and all persons whatever, as well as those whom the bounds 4 DISSERTATION ON THE of a public assembly can contain, are thus brought in contact with the teacher, the statesman, and the pane gyrist. The orator of old was the Parliamentary de bater, the speaker at public meetings, the preacher, the newspaper, the published sermon, the pamphlet, the volume, all in one. When he was to speak, all Greece flocked to Athens ;* and his address was the object of anxious expectation for months before, and the subject of warm comment for months after the grand display of his powers. It is true that he some times committed his discourses to paper afterwards; but so rarely did this happen, that we have only pre served to us the published speeches of three or four Greek and one Latin orator ; but those few which were thus written out could hardly, in the times of manu script distribution, be said to be published at all ; while of anything like the addresses now so frequent upon every occasion of importance, in the form of pamph lets, or other ephemeral productions, any work treating of the topics of the day, or any attempt by writing to influence the public mind for temporary purposes, it does not appear that there ever were examples in ancient times, if we except the speech of Archidamus, and that to Philip, both written by Isocrates. Indeed, the necessarily confined circulation of manuscript com positions, must have rendered it altogether hopeless to produce any immediate effect on the community by such means. Nor is it enough to say that the rostrum of old monopolized in itself all the functions of the press, the senate, the school, and the pulpit, in our days. It was a rival to the stage also. The people, fond as they were of theatrical exhibitions, from hav ing no other intellectual entertainment, were really as much interested in oratorical displays, as sources of recreation. They regarded them, not merely with the interest of citizens hearing state affairs discussed * Cicero, Brutus, sub fine. ELOQUENCE OF THE ANCIENTS. 5 in which they took a deep concern, and on which they were called to give an opinion; but as auditors and spectators at a dramatic performance, by which they were to be moved and pleased, and on which they were to exercise their critical faculties, refined by experience, and sharpened by the frequent con templation of the purest models. Tliat the orators of Greece and Rome regarded their art as one of eminent display, considered it their pro vince to please as well as to move their audience, and addressed the assembly, not only as hearers who were to be convinced or persuaded, but as critics also who were to judge of rhetorical merit, is clear from num berless considerations, some of which must here be ad verted to, in order to show that Ancient Oratory held a place among the Fine Arts properly so called, and was, like them, an appeal to the taste, ending in the mere pleasure of contemplation, as well as an appeal to the reason or the passions, leading to practical consequences, and having action for its result. An attention to this subject will explain many things in the structure of ancient orations, which would other wise be with difficulty apprehended. Of the circumstances to which we have adverted as proving the position in question, some belong to the head of internal, others to that of external evidence — the former being discoverable by inspection of the com positions themselves, the latter resting upon historical evidence of facts. I. — 1. The first of the things belonging to the former class which strikes an attentive student of the ancient ¦orators, is the exquisite finish and perfect polish of their compositions. It really seems as if the fit word were always found in the appropriate place; as if, though every topic may not always be the best possible for the orator's purpose, yet everything which he intended to say was said in the best possible manner, and so that no further consideration could ever improve it. " Quse 6 DISSERTATION ON THE ita pura erat, ut nihil liquidius ; ita libere fluebat, ut nusquam adhasresceret : nullum, nisi loco positum, et tan- quam in vermiculato emblemate, ut ait Lucilius,* struc- tum verbum videres. Nee vero ullum aut durum, aut insolens, aut humile, aut longius ductum ;f ac non pro pria verba rerum, sed pleraque translata; sic tamen, ut ea non irruisse in alienum locum, sed immigrasse in suum diceres. Nee vero hsc soluta, nee diffluentia, sed adstricta numeris, non aperte, nee eodem modo semper, sed varie dissimulanterque conclusis."f But it is also evident, that the exquisite structure of the sentences, the balanced period, the apt and per fect antithesis, the neat and epigrammatic turn, the finished collocation, all indicate an extreme elaboration, and could hardly have been the suggestion of the mo ment, because the choice of the earlier expressions is often regulated by those which occur subsequently. This fineness of composition must, however, be admitted not to be a perfectly decisive proof of extreme prepara tion beforehand ; both because we can hardly assign any limits to the effects of great practice in giving a power of extemporary composition, — witness the facility of rhyming off-hand acquired by the Italian improvi- satori, — and also because we cannot be certain that the spoken speech was exactly the same with the one which we now read — " Orationem habuit luculentam, quam postea scriptam edidit " — says Sallust of Cicero's first Catilinarian, as if insinuating that he spoke one speech and wrote another ; — a thing which the readers of modern debates, who happen also to have been the hearers of the same, can well comprehend. Indeed, a * Cicero here refers to two verses of Lucilius, the diction of which is remarkable, — Quam lepide lexeis compostae! ut tesserulae onines Arte pavimento, atque emblemate vermiculato ; alluding to the ancient Mosaic f As we say, far-fetched. X Cicero, Brutus, c. 79. ELOQUENCE OF THE ANCIENTS. 7 passage in one of Cicero's Epistles, shows that he was not very scrupulous as to the accuracy with which his published corresponded with his spoken orations. For he gives as the only reasons why he could not accede to Tubero's request (to have something inserted in his speech Pro Ligario) that it was already published, and that he had no mind to defend Tubero's conduct.* I. — 2. The exquisite figures with which the ancient speeches are interspersed, and the highly skilful dispo sition of their materials, do not perhaps furnish more decisive proofs than the diction. But the exemplary temperance with which topics are used, and the conciseness with which ideas of the most important kind are expressed, and images portrayed, certainly can hardly be the effect of any experience or practical skill. The emptiness and prolixity of improvisatori, and other extemporary composers, show that this faculty of condensation is not so easily acquired as that of good and even accurate composition. It must, however, be confessed, that the distinguishing charac teristic of ancient composition, spoken as well as written, seems to indicate some change having been made in the spoken discourse, when it was reduced to writing subsequently to delivery. For with all the quickness natural to an Attic audience, and all that expertness which a Roman assembly may be supposed to have acquired from the habit of attentively hearing the finest compositions, it seems difficult to understand how the great passages, delivered in as few words as if attaining the utmost possible conciseness, were the object chiefly in the author's view, could make their due impression upon auditors, who, hearing them for the first time, and having no notice of the idea or the image, till it was at a stroke, as it were, presented to their minds, could have time allowed for apprehending it, or at least for tasting its beauty, or feeling its force. f Epp. ad Atticum, xiii 2. 8 DISSERTATION ON THE The orator often feels that he could add strength to his composition by giving it the concentration of compression, but that if he suddenly presented his ideas to his audience, he would be in the middle of another sentence, or even another topic, before the blow, so rapidly struck, had produced its full impression, and the mind of the hearer would be in the state of confusion in which a bell throws the ear, when struck so rapidly as to make its successive vibrations interfere with one another. He feels that were he writing for the eye, for such deliberate perusal as enables the reader to pause and dwell upon each successive period until it has told, and even to recur in case of imperfect apprehension, he would prefer another and a more concise annunciation of his ideas ; but he must needs sacrifice this advantage to make his due impression. Nothing can be more natural, therefore, than that, on reconsidering the subject, and giving his discourse in writing, he should omit some things which are unnecessary to the reader, who has the words oculis subjecta fidelibus. Accordingly, when we recollect in how few words, some of the most renowned passages in ancient oratory are couched, as for instance, the SogTrsp vtyos itself, it seems very reasonable to suppose that some words have occasionally been omitted by the writer, which the speaker had used ; just as mathe maticians are known to leave out intermediate steps of their synthetical demonstrations, which, in their analytical investigations, were all gone through by them originally. I. — 3. But another peculiarity in the ancient rhetoric is quite decisive upon the question, both proving how much the productions of the orators were the result of great labour, and showing how much their delivery was regarded as a dramatic display, or at least an exhibition in which the audience was to be pleased, independently of the business intended to be promoted. Passages are very frequently to be found in one oration, sometimes ELOQUENCE OF THE ANCIENTS. 9 word for word the same with those contained in another by the same speaker, sometimes varying in certain particulars, and apparently varying because subsequent reflection, perhaps aided by the criticisms of others, or by the effects observed to be produced on the audience, had suggested the change, as an improvement upon the earlier composition. K we only consider how little it is in the natural course of things, that a person addressing perhaps a different audience, nay, still more, the same audience, but certainly upon a different business, should use the very same topics, even the same figures of speech, in the same or nearly the same words, and how likely these must always be, in the active affairs of life, to be inapplicable in one case, precisely because they were applicable in another and a different case, we shall at once perceive that the old orators had other objects in view than the mere furtherance of the matter actually in hand, and that those passages were repeated, rather because they had been found successful in striking and delighting the audience when first pronounced, and were therefore likely to please in the repetition, than because they conduced materially to carry conviction to their minds, and gain their concurrence to a practical proposition. For, certainly, if a person is to be convinced that a certain measure is expedient or necessary, and if the matter addressed to his mind with this view is precisely the topic, illustrated by the metaphors, and in the words, which he distinctly recollects to have been formerly employed for the purpose of making him assent to a wholly different proposition, and support a measure of another kind entirely, nothing can be more likely than that he should at once say, " Why, surely I have heard all this before ; you told me the same thing last year, on such a question, — you cannot be in earnest — you are playing upon me, or playing with the subject." Such would be the effect of the repetition, upon an audience who were met merely to transact real business, 10 DISSEKTATION ON THE to consider on the merits of the case brought before it, and to act, that is, decide, after mature deliberation and making up its mind, upon conviction. Accordingly, nothing could prove more fatal to the speaker's object than any such attempt in our assemblies ; it would be at once confessing that he had some other object in view than to convince his hearers, and some other business to which he sacrificed the concern in hand. But far otherwise is it, if we suppose, that the orator has a twofold object, and that the audience is collected for another purpose, as well as that of being convinced, — that he desires to gratify, to please, as well as to persuade, and that they are come to enjoy a critical repast, as well as to " expatiate and discourse their state affairs." In this case, the repetition would heighten the zest at each time ; as they who love music, or take pleasure in dramatic representations, are never so much gratified with the first enjoyment of any fine melody or splendid piece of acting, as with its subsequent exhibition. A nearer view of the practice referred to, will set this in a sufficiently clear light ; and will show, that these repetitions are not at all confined to trivial passages, which might be forgotten after having been once heard, but on the contrary, are chiefly to be found in the finer, the more striking, and therefore the more noted passages, — passages which must have been familiar to every hearer. This close examination of the Greek Orations is also highly instructive and curious ; for we are thus, as it were, let into the secret of their composition, almost as if the rough draught had been preserved. We don't, perhaps, see the original sketch of the picture, as in examining the designs of some of the great Masters whose works are preserved in their various stages ; but we see the discourse from a state with which the orator had, after much labour, at first rested satisfied, and which, but for his exquisite skill, and the fastidiousness which always accompanies genius in judging its own productions, ELOQUENCE OP THE ANCIENTS. 11 would have remained, and been deemed perfect, by after ages ; and we can trace the progress of the work from that to its present finished and absolute form, as we can some of the compositions of Pope, from the MS. preserved in the British Museum, and those of Milton, from the MS., far more valuable, in the Library of Trinity College, Cambridge. The repetitions are nowhere to be found so frequent as in the Fourth Philippic, which for this reason has been termed by commentators and critics, the Peroration of the Nine Orations against Philip. Not having, it should seem, considered this subject very attentively, or been aware that numerous repetitions are also to be found in the rest of the lesser orations, they seem to have thought that this notion of a peroration sufficiently explained the whole matter. But in truth the Fourth Philippic is almost entirely a repetition, and chiefly from one of the preceding ones, perhaps the most magnificent of the minor works, that upon the affairs of the Chersonese, sometimes, called the Eighth Philippic. If whole passages were to be found in both without any variation, it might be supposed that transcribers had by mistake copied them ; or if nearly the whole, of one oration were composed of passages the very same with those, which occurred in another, we might suppose that oration to be spurious ; although even then it might be observed, that the learned monks who beguiled their solitude in the middle ages by fabricating ancient works, always displayed their skill in original composition, imitating no doubt the manner of their models, but never resting satisfied with the unambitious task of culling out passages and working them into a cento. But in the Fourth Philippic, there are variations and additions which clearly show that the orator sometimes improved upon the first thought, sometimes adapted the original sentence to the new occasion ; and we can often trace the steps of the process, and perceive the precise reasons which guided it. At the same time, 12 DISSERTATION ON THE it appears that some sentences are retained in the self same state in which they originally were ; and this shows that he had at first bestowed so much pains as to bring these to a perfection which satisfied his severe taste, and that, when the same ideas were again to be expressed, he regarded his former selection of words as preferable to any other which he could make. It is a remarkable circumstance that, in these respects, no difference can be traced between the finest passages and those of inferior importance ; in both kinds we observe that sometimes there are variations and improvements, sometimes an exact repetition ; and this plainly demon strates that all the portions of the work were elaborated with extreme art, no part being carelessly prepared and flung in as a kind of cement to fill up the interstices between less splendid passages. In this, as in so many other particulars, how different is the texture of modern discourse ! Even one of the greatest, in some respects certainly the very greatest orator of recent times, Lord Chatham, used frequently, especially in his latter days, to speak in a careless manner and in an under tone of voice, for a quarter of an hour or more at a time, as if he did not solicit any attention from his audience, and then to break out into one of those brilliant passages which have immortalized his name. One of the most remarkable parts of the Fourth Philippic, is that highly wrought description of Philip's implacable hatred to Athens, of the reasons upon which that hatred was grounded, and of his policy in over running Thrace ; and this passage is to be found also in the Oration upon the Chersonese delivered the year before ; but it seems to have been, during the interval, adapted to the circumstances in which the Fourth Philippic was delivered, and to have been somewhat more highly finished. The orator begins by saying in the same words, that the Athenians must first of all dismiss from their minds any doubt of Philip having broken the peace, and of his now waging open war ELOQUENCE OP THE ANCIENTS. 13 against them. In the Chersonese Oration, when stating this, he calls upon them to give over their mutual wranglings and recriminations, which is omitted in the Fourth Philippic. He then proceeds in the same words in both orations, Km kokovouc /ueV tan koi SxQpOQ 6\\1 TT) 7ToXsi, KOI Tty TJ)C IToXiWQ t^CHpU, "he is the deadly enemy (literally evil-disposed and hostile) of the whole city, and of the very ground it stands on ;" and then he bursts forth with 7rpo<70ijo-a> Se, — but in the two orations, this introduces perfectly different matters, and the difference is very remarkable. In the Chersonese, Philip is " the enemy of every creature within the city, and of those too who most flatter themselves that they enjoy his smiles. Do they deny it? Let them look at (the fate of) those Olynthians, Lasthenes, and Euthycrates, who, to all appearance, were his familiar favourites, and no sooner betrayed their country into his hands, than they per ished by the most miserable of deaths."* But in the Fourth Philippic, he adds, after the words irgoaQfow Se, that Philip is the implacable enemy, not of all the men within the city's walls, but of the gods in the city; and, by a striking and bold apostrophe, invokes their vengeance upon his head, " koi to?? lv ry tto\u Stoig, — oiVeo avrbv E5oXlo-Eiav."t — " He is the enemy of the gods themselves who guard us, — may they utterly destroy him !" The reason of this remarkable varia tion is plainly to be perceived. Possibly he might think the allusion to the fate and the conduct of the Olynthian chiefs not so appropriate when, after the lapse of another year, these things could not be so fresh in the recollection of his hearers ; but this is by * IXpetrtMra/ 5s xttl toIs sv t!j v'oX'.i i rhv vo\l\ v^Si„av. t«»t4/v xixurr itroXuXairii.—Oralores Greed, ed. Reiske, vol. i., p. 99. t Ibid, voL i., p. 134. 14 DISSERTATION ON THE no means so probable a supposition as that,_ upon reflection, he had perceived the anticlimax which, it must be confessed, mars the beauty of the passage as given formerly in the Chersonese Oration ; where, after describing Philip as the deadly enemy of the very ground the city stands on, he adds, that he is also the enemy of all its inhabitants — a far more mitigated and ordinary species of hostility. True genius may be for a moment at fault; but its characteristic is to derive from failure itself the occasion of new success, and to turn temporary defeat into lasting triumph. Having made Philip the enemy of the ground itself on which Athens was built, he sought about for some stronger description still of his implacable hatred, nor could find it on earth. He therefore must make the Macedonian's enmity war with heaven itself, and from hence he brought out the magnificent apostrophe, which, after the topic it arose out of had thus been wrought up so high, became as natural and easy as it was imposing and grand. After this, the anticlimax would have been of course far greater than ever, of introducing the allusion to the hostility against the inhabitants, and he was compelled, therefore, to sacrifice the fine allusion to Olynthus. Let us here, in passing, remark how groundless the notion is of those critics who have described Demosthenes as never indulging in figures.* No passage can be more figurative than the one we have been contemplating ; nor do tropes of a bolder caste occur in any prose composition, we might add, or in any poetry, than the description of a man's enmity reaching at once to the soil and to the gods — " a solo usque ad caelum." The orator goes on, in both orations, in the same words, to affirm that the government or constitution of Athens is the great object of Philip's hatred, and, as * Of this number assuredly was not Cicero ; and yet the Roman orators who affected Attic taste, appear to have deemed plainness, dryness, the humile dicendi genus, a characteristic of it. ELOQUENCE OP THE ANCIENTS. 15 he says, justly. For this he gives two reasons in the Philippic ; — first, because Philip feels those conflicting interests and mutual injuries which must needs make them enemies of each other ; and next, because he knows that Athens must always be the refuge of any state which he wishes to subdue, and must ever resist him herself, as long as her democratic government endures. Both these reasons are repetitions, almost in the same words, from former orations ; the one is taken from the Second Philippic, delivered three years before, and the other, from the Chersonese Oration. The only material change in the former, is the transposition of the words fi&atws and ao-$aXwe, apparently in order to obviate the bad effects of the same vowels coming together, as they did in the Second Philippic, vavra raXXa ao-^aXw? KEKnjrat. Perhaps he also preferred to round the period with lv MaicsSovuy, rather than to end more abruptly with oIkoi. The sense is not varied here any more than it is by the substitution of i'cyEirat for vojut&i in the Fourth Philippic, a substitution which the orator makes, although the same word iiyurai had ended the clause but one before. The passage taken from the former Philippic is tacked on, as it were, to the one taken from the Chersonese Oration, by the insertion of a few words wpbg Se TOVTOig TOaOVTOtQ OVGLV. The changes made in the Chersonese passages are remarkable, because we can easily perceive the reasons that led to them, both as regards the sense and the sound. 'Eote -yap iifiuQ ovk avrdi wXsovsKTria-ai icai Ka-ar' atyeXiaQai Savol (in the Fourth Philippic, ical rbv t\ovT afeXtoOai) ko.1 6'Xwe ivo- ^Xijcrai toiq ap^Eiv povXo/nivois, koi iravrag avOpwirovg £«C EX£i»0£p('aw OitHpiXioQai efoifioi, (in the Fourth Philippic, kJZcXiadai Suvoi). He evidently now con sidered Beivol the more powerful word, and fitter to close the period, and he avoided repeating it ; he also 16 DISSERTATION ON THE preferred IfZeXiaOai to a compound of the afyeXtoOai, which double compound he had used before ; and besides gaining the advantage of concluding with SeivoI, he avoided the hiatus occasioned by the ai and e immediately following each other. Perhaps we may from hence conclude (and other instances will after wards be pointed out) that sometimes when he allows the same words, or words of the same root, to recur at a very short interval, it is not because he deliberately approves such repetitions, but because ho may not have given the diction its last polish. Thus, in the same passage of the Chersonese, a little farther on, we have KaraaKevaZtTai twice in one period, where the repetition is figurative, or at least intensive, and meant to increase the force of the expression ; and immediately after, the same word is employed a third time, but with another added, l^aipti, where Karao-KEua&rat really seems superfluous. Thus, too, in tho beautiful description of public and private life, in the peroration of the Fourth Philippic, cnrpayfiova is twice used. But in many instances the repetition is intensive, both where the whole word is repeated, and where the root only is taken; as in the Chersonese Oration, raic Karriyoplaig ag AioirdOovg Karriyopovai ; in the Ora tion against Aristocrates, where he speaks of persons KivSvvovg KtvSvvtvaavTag ; and in the Oration for Ctesippus and others, where he mentions persons, iroX£/.iovc woXtfjiovvrag. In other instances, where he merely repeats without intension or figure, the fittest word appears to have been selected and employed at first, and the idea recurring, the orator seems to use it a second time as if he did not deign to go out of his way and vary the phrase, and would not, for the mere sake of changing it, use a less appropriate or choice expression. In the next part of the passages which we are com paring, two instances occur of the orator's using the sentences originally made for one purpose, in such a manner as adapted them to a different state of things. ELOQUENCE OP THE ANCIENTS. 17 In the Chersonese Oration, the argument is, that Diopeithes must be supported in his predatory attack upon Thrace, both because it was justified by Philip's intrigues in the Chersonese, and his open assistance to the Cardians ; and because, whatever thwarted his policy, furthered that of Athens. " All his operations," says Demosthenes, " and his enterprises, are enterprises against this country ; and wheresoever any one attacks him, he attacks him in our defence." In the Fourth Philippic, this last member of the sentence is left out, because it evidently, though stating a general pro position, referred peculiarly to the movements of Diopeithes, which were no longer under discussion. Again, when the Chersonese Oration was delivered, Philip had not as yet taken many of the towns in Upper Thrace ; and Demosthenes, in speaking of his campaign there, asks if any one can be so weak as to imagine that he would encounter the toils and the dangers of that winter campaign for the sake of such miserable places as Drongilus, Cabyle, Masteira, koi a vvv i^aipii koI kot aaKivaZ,irai. When the Fourth Philippic, however, was delivered, he was believed to be in possession of all Thrace ; therefore, this last expression is altered to kcu a vvv aalv avrbv txHV- He also expands the fine period immediately following, in which he contrasts the importance of Athens with those wretched conquests, in order to demonstrate that Athens alone can be the real object of Philip's attack; and he introduces an apostrophe containing an invocation something like that which he had. added to the earlier part of the passage — " Who can suppose that about Athens, her ports, and arsenals, and navy, and precious mines, and ample revenues, her territory and her renown — which may neither he nor any other conqueror ever tear from our country !* — he should be wholly indifferent, and suffer * The addition is — xtxt Tocr&tv, xai 2a'ir,s, Zt ^«V iziUaj. (ivi* a\Xu yivotro prd-V', %U£a>oQ in the Oration on the Crown, had been used by him for the same purpose, only a few months before, in the hearing of the same assembly ; who must all have well remembered them, often repeated them in the interval, much canvassed the merits of the passage, and thus have known that they were coming, as soon as the preceding sentence was begun. In like manner, there is a repetition, word for word, in the Fourth Philippic, of a most splendid passage in the Chersonese Oration, which forms the continuation of the one we have been contemplating. It is the contrast which the citizens of other States present to * Literally, "to winter in that dungeon '¦ f Orat. Greee., ed. Heiske, vol. i., pp. 102, 138. j Ibid, vol. i., pp. 104, 148. ELOQUENCE OF THE ANCIENTS. 19 the Athenians, in their treatment of traitors. He goes through many of those, indignantly and bitterly affirming that no one durst in their hearing have taken the common enemy's part ; and he winds up the whole by taunting the traitors with the gains of the prefer ment to which their disaffection has led, while the country has sunk in proportion as they have risen. This suggests the favourite contrast of Philip's fortunes and their own. "He has become flourishing, and mighty, and formidable to all, both Greeks and Barbarians, while you are become destitute and low — splendid indeed in the abundance of your markets, but in every preparation of any value, utterly ridi culous."* The word " is," (eo-vi) instead of " has become," (¦yt-yovEv) is really the only change made in this very striking passage, the winding up of which must have been foreseen by the audience as soon as the preceding long passage began to be pronounced by the orator. The Fourth Philippic has the peroration and the fine apostrophe to Aristodemus connected with this contrast by a remark, that those who have thus betrayed the country, mete out to her and to themselves a very different measure ; recommending peace and quiet to her under injury, while they cannot be quiet though no one is attacking them. In the Chersonese Oration, where the passage respecting the conduct of the friends of submission and apathy occurs close to the peroration, as in the Fourth Philippic, it suggests and introduces the magnificent description of a wise and honest counsellor, contrasted with selfish time- servers, which has been ever so much and so justly admired. In the Fourth Philippic, the conduct of those advocates of Philip being exemplified, peculiarly in the instance of Aristodemus, leads the orator to * 'O ft.lv tlaatfitav xa.) ftiyets xtxi ^ij8 p's Tufftv "EXXflo'l xcti Ba*/3«£JV? ysyoviv, Opus 5* spripei xoli Tatrnvoi, tjj ptv Taiv aiv'tav &(p0ovia \ap"xpii, tjj S' iZ6ptvot, Kal irvvdavoptvoi Kara ty)v ayopav, ti ti Xiytrai vtwrepov. Kairoi, ri ytvoir av vtwrtpov, rj MaKsSa»i> avr/p tcara- povuv AQrivaiwv, icai ToXpCov ttritTToXag irtpwtiv Toiavrag, o'lag riKOvrraTt pticpq 7rpor£pov;t I* must be allowed that the original passage is the more spirited, * Orat. Graze, ed. Reiske, vol. i., p. 43. f H>id, vol. i., r. 156. ELOQUENCE OP THE ANCIENTS. 25 and on tho whole the finer of the two, and that the application of it to the receipt of tho letter, in the latter oration, is somewhat flat, after the striking appli cation on the former occasion. It is, however, redeemed by a fine burst which follows, and in which he contrasts the Athenian inaction with Philip's energy and valour — " enamoured with danger, his wholo body covered with wounds" — tho original idea of the more famous passage in the great Ovation on the same subject. It is worthy of remark, that the perorations, if by this we mean the very concluding sentences of all, in the Greek orations, are calm and tame, compared with the rest of their texture, and especially with their pen ultimate portions, which riso to the highest pitch of animation. There seems to have been a rule enjoined by the same severe taste which forbade any expression ot passion in a"statue, that the orator should close his speech in graceful repose. The same principle appears to have been extended to each highly impassioned por tion of the discourse : the orator must, it should seem, always show that he was entirely master of himself, and never was run away with by the vehomence of the moment. It appears that the signal failure of JEschines in his great Oration (on the Crown) may be traced to this source. Certain it is, that, had he closed that noble performance before the last sentence, nothing ever was more magnificent than his peroration would have been. The idea is grand, simple, and striking — that of desiring his audience, when his antagonist shall call around him the accomplices of his crimes, to imagine they see surrounding the place he speaks from, all the mighty benefactors of their country — Solon, the wise lawgiver, and Aristides, the pure and disinterested statesman, beseeching the Athenians not to prefer the eloquence of Demosthenes to the laws or their oaths, or to crown him for treasons far greater than made those patriots of old banish for ever far lesser offenders ; that they behold Themistocles, and all those who fell 26 DISSERTATION ON THE at Marathon and Platasse — who never can endure him being honoured by the country who had conspired with the barbarians against Greece. The execution is as fine and majestic as the conception is noble. Every allusion to these ancient worthies is brought to bear on Demosthenes ; every expression that is most sonorous, and yet most appropriate and most picturesque, is applied. The concluding sentence of all is bold, yet sustained in the loftiest flight of eloquence. Nothing prevented it from holding for ever the place which the celebrated oath in Demosthenes now holds at the head of all "the triumphs of rhetoric, except that it was fol lowed by this divine passage, to which its merit is little inferior, and to which it manifestly gave the hint ; for the resemblance is close, in one place, to the very words — " Themistocles, and those who fell at Marathon, and those who fell at Plataeae, and those tombs of your forefathers — think you not that they will send forth groans when you shall crown him who conspired with the barbarians against the Greeks?"* All this success, which would have been prodigious, was sacrificed apparently to the necessity of closing with a more ordinary and less elevated passage ; nor would it have been sacrificed, if that closing passage had strictly followed the rule, and had not contained the absurd and even ludicrous words, invoking the sun, earth, and knowledge — for all the rest is merely tame and correct, like the usual perorations of the Greek orators. To this rule of calm peroration, however, there are some sufficiently remarkable exceptions. That of Demosthenes' great Oration is one, as if to show his rival that he could, contrary to the practice, introduce a highly-wrought invocation into the closing period, * ®£piffTex*.ia. Se xa.) rou; h NapaPaJn TEXiuTtiffavras, xa.) reus iv TlXa;d! vol. i., p. 35. % Ibid, vol. i., p. 201. 28 DISSERTATION ON THE who should slay Charidemus, as a remuneration for the services of that foreign general. In the beautiful pas sage to which we are referring, the orator contrasts with this lavish distribution of public honours, nay, this invention of a new privilege, the slowness of their ancestors even to admit that individuals natives of their own country had the merit of saving the state, and the scanty reward which they deemed equivalent to any services a stranger could render. His argument is, that when foreigners had conferred the highest bene fits on the state, they never were in return protected by such decrees as the one in favour of Charidemus, but obtained the rights of citizenship, which were not then prostituted, and therefore were deemed of high value ; and he names two instances of this judicious system of rewards, in the cases of Menon and Perdic- cas. Now, in the Oration upon the Administration of the Commonwealth, he is inveighing against the pros titution of public honours, and particularly that lavish distribution of the rights of citizenship ; and he repeats, almost word for word, the passage which he had com posed for Euthycles ; only that he says their ancestors never thought of giving those rights of citizenship to Menon and Perdiccas, but only an exemption from tribute, deeming the title of citizen to be a reward far greater than any service could justify them in bestowing. In the Oration against Aristocrates, after describing the services rendered by Menon, he says : in return for these benefits, " our ancestors did not pass a decree of outlawry against any one who should attempt Menon's life, aXXa woXiriiav tSoaav — and this honour they deemed an ample compensation."* But, in the Oration upon the Commonwealth, after describing Menon's ser vices in the same words, he says, " ovk li/oj^i'o-avro 7roXt- Ttiav, a'XX' driXtiav tSWav p6vov."\ Again, in the two orations, he describes Perdiccas's services in the * Orat. Graze, edit. Eeiske, vol. i., p. 687. f Ibid, vol. i., p. 173. ELOQUENCE OF THE ANCIENTS. 29 same words ; but in the one he says, our ancestors did not decree that whoever attempted his life should be outlawed, dXXa iroXiTtiav eSoikov povov ; and in the other he says, ovk iipriQiaavro TroXiTtiav, dXX' driXtiav tStoKav povov, and adds, that they withheld the 7roX- (tei'o, " because they deemed their country great, and venerable and glorious, and the privilege of bearing its name far above any stranger's deserts."* Both orations then proceed to complain, but in different language, of the manner in which that title had been prostituted.f The ultimate judgment pronounced as it were by the orator upon his own compositions, and recorded in the changes which he made when repeating the same pas sage, has been already adverted to in general terms. It is not perhaps very surprising that we sometimes find this judgment at variance with that of the less refined and severe taste of modern critics. Thus, the Second Olynthiac contains a very well known and most justly admired description of the slippery founda tion upon which ill-gotten power rests. If a translation of this be here attempted, it is certainly under a deep conviction how impracticable any approach, in our lan guage, must be to the great original. " When a confederacy rests upon union of senti ments, and all have one common interest in the war, men take a delight in sharing the same toils, in bear ing the same burthens, and in persevering together to the end. But when, by aggression and intrigue, one party, like this Prince, has waxed powerful over the rest, the first pretext, the shghtest reverse, shakes off * It might have been supposed that, in the Oration against Aristo- crates, m\iy the study of them."f The pains which he took to cure or subdue his natural defects of voice and utterance, are well known. But he also applied himself diligently to rhetoric under Isasus, the most famous advocate of the day. It is also recorded of him, that he wrote out the whole of Thueydides eight times with, his own hand, to unpress the vigorous and impressive style of that great historian on his memory ; and that he could repeat his works by heart. His study of delivery under the comedian Satyrus is well known ;| and he is said also to have taken lessons from another actor, named Andronicus.§ Cicero took equal pains in acquiring his art, nor ceased to learn after he had taken his place in the Forum, and even on the Bench. He accustomed him self to translate into Latin the works of the Greek orators, in which exercise he said he resolved " ut non solum optimis verbis uterer, et tamen usitatis, sed etiam exprimerem qusedam verba imitando, quae nova nostris * Cie Brut., 121. f In v!u J)em- X Pint, in Yit Dan. § Quint., xi. 3, § 7. 40 DISSERTATION ON THE essent, dummodo essent idonea."* Nor did he confine himself to the orators ; for Quintilian informs us that he published Latin translations of Plato and Xenophon.t When Molo, the rhetorician of Rhodes, came to Rome, Cicero hastened to study under him. He daily prac tised declamation, chiefly in Greek, and obtained such readiness in the use of the noblest of all languages, that when he delivered a speech in it before the same Greek rhetorician, upon visiting Rhodes, it is related that the Grecian expressed his sorrow at finding that Rome was now stripping of oratorical fame the country which her arms had in all other respects already sub dued. Even after he had distinguished himself at the Bar, he spent some time in Greece, and there attended the Schools of Oratory, again studying under Molo, who had before been his master at Rome. It is well known that, far from being satisfied with his success, which was great, or from deeming, because of it, that he had fallen upon the best style of oratory, his study of the Asian style when he visited Greece, induced him materially to alter his own. The severity with which he, at a maturer age, judged some of the most success ful passages of his brilliant orations is well known ; and all their success, had his judgment been less severe, and his self-complacency greater, might not have per petuated his name among orators, any more than the memory of all the principal orators of Quintilian's age has been preserved, whose very names would have perished but for his once mentioning them, and one only in particular, Trachallus, eulogized by that great critic, and never more heard of.J Nay, long after his return to Rome, while actually exercising the high office of Prsetor, he frequented the school of Gnipho, a celebrated Rhetorician of that day ;§ and while in full practice at the Bar, he continued the habit of declaim ing upon supposed questions (theses), as if he had been * Cic. de Orat, i. 34. + Lib. x. 5, § 2. % Quint., xii. 5, § 5. § Sueton. De III. Gram., cap. 7. ELOQUENCE OF THE ANCIENTS. 41 a young student. He is also known to have studied delivery under' Roscius and ^Esopus, two actors, — the former in comedy, the latter in tragedy. It is further certain that the ancient orators gave lessons, even the most celebrated of them. Mention has already been made of Molo, Gnipho, and other professors of Rhetoric. But Isocrates, Isasus, and Demosthenes himself, taught their art to those who would excel in forensic pursuits. Isocrates is said to have received twenty pounds from his pupils ; but Isaeus and Demosthenes, two hundred, — a convincing proof how great a value was set in those times upon the accomplishment of oratory ; but a proof also how differently a studious devotion to it was then viewed ; for assuredly it would be in the last degree perilous to any modern speaker's success in public, were he to teach rhetoric while he continued to practise it. II. — 5. Nor is it foreign to our present inquiry to remark, that the exquisite taste of the Athenian audi ence both proved their delight in the pleasures of the Forum, or Ecclesia, so to speak, and showed how well they were trained to a nice discernment of oratorical merit. It may be remarked generally, that a speaker who thinks to lower his composition in order to accom modate himself to the habits and taste of his audience, when addressing the multitude, will find that he com mits a grievous mistake. All the highest powers of eloquence consist in producing passages which may at once affect even the most promiscuous assembly; but even the graces of composition are not thrown away upon such auditors. Clear, strong, terse, yet natural and not strained expressions; happy antitheses; apt comparisons ; forms of speech that are natural without being obvious ; harmonious periods, yet various, spirited, and never monotonous or too regularly balanced; — these are what will be always sure to captivate every audience, and yet in these mainly consists finished, and 42 DISSERTATION ON THE elaborate, and felicitous diction. " Mirabile est," says Cicero, " cum plurimum in faciendo intersit inter doctum et rudem, quam non multum differat in judicando."* The best speakers of all times have never failed to find, that they could not speak too well and too carefully to a popular assembly ; that if they spoke their best, the best they could address to the most learned and critical assembly, they were sure to succeed ; although it may be very true that the converse of the proposition is not equally well founded ; for bad diction and false taste will not be so sure to obtain their merited reprobation from a promiscuous auditory. The delight with which certain passages were listened to by the Roman audi ence, has been recorded by ancient critics and rhetori cians. Two sentences spoken or recorded by Cicero, the one by its fine and dignified composition, the other by its rhythm, are said to have produced an electrical effect ; and yet, when we attend to them, we perceive that this could only be in consequence of the very exquisite taste of the audience. The former was his description of Verres : " Stetit soleatus Prsetor Populi Romani, cum pallio purpureo, tunicaque talari, muli- ercula nixus, in littore." The other is given by him as spoken by Carbo:f "Patris dictum sapiens, temeritas filii comprobavit." But the nicety of the Attic taste seems to have been still more remarkable. It is related of Theophrastus, who had lived many years at Athens, had acquired great fame in eloquence, and valued him self extremely on the purity of his Attic style, that he was much mortified by an old woman, with whom he was cheapening some wares at a stall, detecting his foreign origin, and addressing him, at %tvt. Nor could she give any other reason for it than a word he had used which seemed rather affectedly Attic. J There may be added two other peculiarities to * De Oral, iii. 51. f Cic. Orat, 63. { Both Cicero {Brutus, 46) and Quintilian (viii. 1) mention this anec dote ; but the latter alone gives the ground of the old woman's conjecture. ELOQUENCE OP THE ANCIENTS. 43 complete the picture of that attention to oratorical < composition, and that refinement in the audience which we have been contemplating, and to illustrate the dif ference in this respect between ancient and modern eloquence. Any merely critical remarks in a modern speech are hardly permitted. It is not a charge which can now-a-days be made against an adversary either at the Bar or in debate, that he has made a bad speech, that his eloquence is defective, that his figures are out of keeping, his tones inharmonious, or his manner awkward. Yet these are topics of ordinary recrimina tion and abuse between Demosthenes and iEschines. To have argued inconclusively, to counsel badly, to act corruptly, or feebly, or inconsistently, are the charges to which the combatants in the more close and business like battles of our Senate must confine themselves. With us it is no .matter of attack that an adversary's tropes are in bad taste, or his manner" inelegant, or his voice unmusical. So we may perceive the exquisite care taken by the ancient orators to strike and to please their audience, in the attention paid by them to the rhythm or numbers of their periods. In the ancient institutes of Rhetoric, that subject forms a separate and important head, which, or even the mention of which, would scarcely be borne among us. It must at the same time be observed, that although we are so suspicious* of whatever would give an appearance of theatrical display to the business of debate, our greatest orators nevertheless have excelled by a careful attention to rhythm, and some of the finest passages of modern eloquence owe their un- ?aralleled success undeniably to the adoption of those ambic measures which thrilled and delighted the Roman Forum, and the Dactylus and Pseonicus, which were the luxury of the Attic Ecclesia.* Witness the * Examples of this artificial composition occur in every page of the old Orators. See particularly, the famous climax of Demosthenes, in the Oration on the Crown, Appendix, No. V. ; and the quotation from the Argument of Cicero Pro Idilone, Appendix, No. VII. 44 DISSERTATION ON THE former in Mr. Erskine's celebrated passage respecting the Indian chief, and the latter in Mr. Grattan's peroration to his speech on Irish independence.* That the ancients, and particularly the Attic school, were sparing of the more elaborate ornaments of eloquence, figures, is certain ; unless indeed we regard as such, enumeration, repetition, antithesis, interroga tion, and the other forms of condensed and vigorous expression, which are not to be reckoned tropes at all. But with metaphor, hyperbole, apostrophe, they certainly did not overload their oratory. It is never theless quite untrue that Demosthenes has so few as some have represented, although undoubtedly he produces a prodigious effect, enlivens his discourse, awakens and sustains the ready attention, in short, is striking and brilliant, with fewer than would have sufficed to any other man. There are preserved to us three orations supposed to be of Pericles ; and Thucy- dides, who has recorded them, certainly represents himself to have heard generally, the words which he sets down in his history, as well as to have examined the evidence of the facts. The most admired of these speeches is the 'E^-ira^toe Xoyoc, the Funeral Oration. Its style is unquestionably chaste and noble ; it is of a touching simplicity, and from the judicious choice of the topics, as well as their skilful disposition and treat ment, the effect must have been great of such an address : it is of a sustained and perfect dignity ; indeed its solemnity seems peculiarly suited to the occasion. But notwithstanding the moving nature of that occasion, and although in the epideictic branch of oratory, more figurative display might have been ex pected than in the ordinary harangues of the Ecclesia, there can be found hardly any tropes at all in the whole compass of the Speech. Only one passage, properly speaking, can be called figurative, — that * Appendix, No. I. ELOQUENCE OP THE ANCIENTS. 45 beautiful one where he says that illustrious men have the whole earth for their tomb.* It may, however, be remarked, that Aristotle mentions another as having been in the oration, — a comparison of the loss occa sioned by war to the act of him who should take the Spring out of the year.f But in Thucydides' version no such passage is to be found. It is impossible to deny that the ancient Orators fall nearly as far short of the modern in the substance of their orations as they surpass them in their composi tion. Not only were their views far less enlarged, which was the necessary consequence of their more confined knowledge, but they gave much less informa tion to their audience in point of fact, and they applied themselves less strenuously to argument. The assem blies of modern times are eminently places of business ; the hearers are met to consider of certain practical questions, and not to have their fancy charmed with choice figures, or their taste gratified with exquisite diction, or their ears tickled with harmonious numbers. They must therefore be convinced ; their reason must be addressed by statements which shall prove that the thing propounded is just or expedient, or that it is iniquitous or impolitic. No far-fetched allusions, or vague talk, or pretty conceits, will supply the place of the one thing needful, argument and information. Whatever is beside the question, how gracefully soever it may be said, will only weary the hearer and provoke his impatience ; nay, if it be very fine and very far fetched, will excite his merriment and cover the speaker with ridicule. Ornament of every kind, all manner of embellishment, must be kept within its subordinate * 'AvSgwv yap ttfiQavajv Haifa yvt rutyos, xai ov ffrriXaiv povov Iv rn oixsta irripaUu iffiypatpfi, akXa xa) iv tS) pn crgoanxouffyi aypatfios pvytpij a"(t^ ixaarai rvts yvupvis paXXov *i rou 'ipyou ivotatrarat. — Thue, ii. 43. f Ttjv vsorfira rviv avroXap'ivyv iv ru ftoXipoj ourais ntyxviaPai ix rr,s koXsojs, ajtrmg il rts ro 'lap ea rou ivtavrov i%zXoi. — Arist Rhet, i. 7, iii. 10. Herodotus (vii. 162) puts this figure in the mouth of Gelon. 46 DISSERTATION ON THE bounds, and made subservient merely to the main business. It is certain that no perfection of execution, no beauty of workmanship, can make up for the cardi nal defect of the material being out of its place, that is, indifferent to the question; and one of the most exquisitely composed of Cicero's orations, the one for Archias, could clearly never have been delivered in any English Court of Justice, where the party was upon his defence against an attempt to treat him as an Alien ; though perhaps some of it might have been urged in favour of a relaxation of the law, after his Alienage had been proved, and the whole of it might have been relished by a meeting assembled to do him honour. In fact, not above one-sixth part of the Speech has any bearing whatever upon the question, which was on the construction of a particular law. It is true that Cicero himself appears to be aware how widely he was wandering from the question ; for he asks leave to dwell upon literary topics as something unusual in the Forum ; but still the argument on the case is wanting, and the dissertation on letters is put in its place. So, when he defends Publius Sextus from a charge of riot, grounded on a special law, of the fifty-six pages which compose the oration, not four are at all to the point in dispute. It is, however, a great mistake to suppose that Cicero is generally vague and declamatory, or even that he is less argumentative than the generality of the ancient orators. His speech for Milo, and all that remains of his speeches against the Agrarian Law, are fully as much so as any of Demosthenes' most cele brated orations. But in all his judicial Speeches there are considerable portions which consist of matters so foreign to the question, or of arguments so puerile, that they could never be addressed to modern courts ; and although the same remark cannot be applied so universally to his political Orations, the declamation of which might be used in our days, yet even in these, ELOQUENCE OP THE ANCIENTS. 47 when he reasons, there are almost always portions which could not be made part of a modern speech intended to be argumentative. Thus, among his judi cial speeches, that for Cornelius Balbus is as argu mentative as any ; yet there is about a third part of it composed of panegyric upon Pompey, and other extraneous topics, and of such reasoning as this — that it was not very likely so eminent and experienced a leader as Pompey should have misinterpreted the foot ing upon which Gades stood, the whole question being, whether a naturalization law had ever been extended to the Gaditani, in favour of one of whom Pompey had exercised the powers of that law. But the defence of Milo is not within the scope of this remark. That truly admirable oration is from first to last closely addressed to the point in issue. It is all either argu ment to prove that from every circumstance in the case the presumption is that Clodius was the aggres sor, or invective against Clodius. A topic is indeed handled of extreme delicacy, and full of danger to the cause, — the vast service rendered to the state, and even to the world at large, by Milo, in putting to death the common enemy, the foe to the peace of society. Nor can all the pains taken to show that Milo had only been enabled to confer this benefit upon mankind, by Clodius making the attack upon him, and that but for this fortunate circumstance he never could have touched him, enable the speaker to escape the conclusion which the audience were sure to draw against the party accused, from such a line of defence. But Cicero probably knew that he addressed judges, not of the Clodian faction, or rather judges among whom the sentiments of the opposite party were pre valent; at any rate, this topic was clearly connected with the question, and though a perilous line of rea soning, it was one which bore immediately upon the subject, and was thus argumentative throughout. There are parts of the speech too, which, for soundness and 48 DISSERTATION ON THE clearness of reasoning, may challenge a comparison with any piece of argument in the whole compass of ancient and modern oratory.* It is a common thing with those who, because Cicero is more ornate, suffers the artifice of his composition to appear more plainly, and indulges more in amplifi cation, imagine that he is less argumentative than the Greek orators, to represent the latter, and especially Demosthenes, as distinguished by great closeness of reasoning. If by this is only meant that he never wan ders from the subject, that each remark tells upon the matter in hand, that all his illustrations are brought to bear upon the point, and that he is never found making any step in any direction, which does not advance his main object, and lead towards the con clusion to which he is striving to bring his hearers — the observation is perfectly just ; for this is a distin guishing feature in the character of his eloquence. It is not, indeed, his grand excellence, because every thing depends upon the manner in which he pursues this course, the course itself being one quite as open to the humblest mediocrity as to the highest genius. But if it is meant to be said that those Attic orators, and especially their great chief, made speeches in which long chains of elaborate reasoning are to be found — nothing can be less like the truth. A variety of topics are handled in succession, all calculated to strike the audience. Passions which predominated in their minds are appealed to — feelings easily excited among them are aroused by skilful allusions — glaring inconsisten cies are shown in the advice given by others — some times by exhibiting the repugnance of those counsels among themselves, sometimes by contrasting them with other counsels proceeding from the same quar ters. The pernicious tendency of certain measures is displayed by referring, sometimes to the general prin- * Appendix, No. VII. ELOQUENCE OF THE ANCIENTS. 49 ciples of human action, and the course which human affairs usually take; more frequently, by a reference to the history of past, and generally of very recent events. Much invective is mixed with these topics, and both the enemy without, and the evil counsellor within the walls, are very unsparingly dealt with. The orator was addressing hearers who were for the most part as intimately acquainted as himself with all the facts of the case, and these lay within a sufficiently narrow compass, being the actual state of public affairs, and the victories or the defeats which had, within the memory of all, attended their arms, or the transac tions which had taken place among them in very recent times. No detailed statements were therefore wanted for their information. He was really speaking to them respecting their own affairs, or rather respect ing what they had just been doing or witnessing them selves. Hence a very short allusion alone was gen erally required to raise the idea which he desired to present before his audience. Sometimes a word was enough for his purpose; the naming of a man or a town ; the calling to their recollection what had been done by the one, or had happened to the other. The effect produced by such a rapid interchange of ideas and impressions, must have struck every one who has been present at public meetings. He will have remarked that some such apt allusion has a power — produces an electrical effect — not to be reached by any chain of reasoning, however close, and that even the most highly-wrougttt passages, and the most exquisite composition, fall far short of it in rousing or controlling the minds of a large assembly. Chains of reasoning, examples of fine argumentation, are calculated to pro duce their effect upon a far nicer, a more confined, and a more select audience. But such apposite allusions — such appropriate topics — such happy hits (to use a homely but expressive phrase), have a sure, an irre sistible, a magical effect upon a popular assembly. In 50 DISSERTATION ON THE these the Greek oratory abounds, and above all, its greatest Master abounds in them more than all the lesser rhetoricians. They would have been highly suc cessful without the charms of composition ; but he also clothes them in the most choice language, arranges them in the most perfect order, and captivates the ear with a music which is fitted at his will to provoke or to soothe, but ever to charm the sense, even were it possible for it to be addressed apart, without the mind too being moved. Let any one examine the kind of topics upon which those orators dwell, and he will be convinced that close reasoning was not their object — that they were adapt ing their discourse to the nature of their audience — and that indeed not a few of their topics were such as they would hardly have thought of using, had they been arguing the matter stringently with an anta gonist, " hand to hand, and foot to foot ; " or, which is the same thing, preparing a demonstration to meet the eye of an unexcited reader. It is certain that some of ' Demosthenes' chief topics are exactly those which he would use to convince the calm reason of the most undisturbed listener or reader — such as the dangers of inaction — the formidable, because able and venturous, enemy they had to contend with — the certainty of the peril which is met by procrastination becoming greater after the unprofitable delay. These, however, are the most obvious considerations, and on these he dwells the less because of their being so obvious. But the more striking allusions and illustrations by which he enforces them, are not always such as would bear close examination if considered as arguments, although they are always such as must, in the popular assembly to which he addressed them, have wrought a wondrous effect. Let us take a few instances. It is a frequent topic with the Orator, that the advisers of peace and quiet while the country is in sulted and injured by the common enemy can never ELOQUENCE OP THE ANCIENTS. 51 themselves be at rest, though no one is doing them any wrong — " ovStvbg dBiKovvrog" — and on one occa sion he makes a special application of this topic to Aristodemus, one of the leaders of the Macedonian party. Now, though nothing could be better calcu lated to succeed as a taunt or personal attack, some thing (it cannot surely be called some argument) ad hominem — it is as certain that no reasoning is involved in such an appeal, and that it does not go beyond a sneer or fling, without any tendency to advance the argument. For surely Aristodemus and others might be quite consistent in pursuing the objects of their personal ambition, and yet conscientiously recommend ing a pacific policy; nay, in dividing, and even vexing, the public' councils with their advice to hold by that peaceful course. The total difference of the two cases — those of the individuals and of the states — is too manifest to escape any calm hearer or sober-minded reader. Again, we have the fate of towns and indi viduals who had been seduced by Philip and betrayed to him, painted in many passages, and in some of the most striking of all, as a warning to Athens, e. g., in the Third Philippic, SovXsvovai yt paanyovptvoi ko.1 (TTpttXovptvor and in the Chersonese Oration, Travroov icaKio-r' aVoXatXao-iv. But to this the answer was quite obvious, — that they who recommended peace did it not only without the least design of betraying the city into Philip's hands, but with the very view of saving it from him. So, when he argues, in the First Philippic, that a good statesman should be always in advance of events, in the same manner that a good general always marches at the head of his troops and in front of them, the fact and reason both alike fail ; for neither does a commander always march before his men, nor, when he does, is it in the least degree that he may be pre pared to meet and grapple with those men which is the only reason for a statesman being in advance of events. The comparison which follows, of the Athe- 52 DISSERTATION ON THE nian tactics with the Barbarian's way of boxing, that is, by preparing to ward off the blow from any quarter after it has fallen there, is truly close and perfect ; but it is rather used as an illustration than an argument ; and as an illustration of a sarcastic kind it is consum mate. In like manner, we may perhaps regard the famous passage in the same Philippic, about Philip's death, as a mere taunt or invective against the Athe nians for their being so active in their inquiries after the news about their enemy, and so slow to take measures for opposing him — certainly as an argument nothing can be less effective. But, passing from the rest of the speech, which is almost wholly made up of explanations of the plan of operations proposed by the orator, let us come to the Second Philippic, so greatly admired by Philip him self, and which, he said, would have convinced him both that war should have been declared against himself, and that Demosthenes' should have been made commander-in-chief. He begins by saying that Philip had preferred on all occasions the interests of Thebes to those of Athens, because he knew that the Athenians would always, when it came to the push, declare against his aggressions and in behalf of justice and right; and he maintains that their former glori ous history proved him to have formed an accurate estimate of their future conduct. He makes one short allusion to Philip's conduct towards Messene and Ar- gos, in order to show that it was from policy, and not from justice, that he so preferred the Thebans; and that Athens is the great object of his constant enmity. He then recites a speech which he says he made to the Messenians and Argives, warning them against trusting Philip ; and here occurs the beautiful passage about mistrust of tyrants being the true bulwark of free dom. He now proposes that they of the Macedonian party should be impeached who had brought about the peace; and he vows solemnly that he gives this ELOQUENCE OP THE ANCIENTS. 53 advice, not with the desire of exposing himself to recrimination, by attacking these men, nor yet with the design of enabling them to receive new largesses from Philip, nor merely for the sake of declamatory invectives, but because he apprehends the greatest dangers one day from the enemy ; and that then the rage of the people will burst forth, and will fall, not upon the guilty, but upon the innocent — on those whose counsels have been the soundest. The orator concludes with applying this charge particularly to one individual, apparently ^Eschines. Now, though nothing can be more artfully calculated to gain the favour of the Athenians, and also to warn them against Philip's designs, it must at once be admitted, that to describe this celebrated oration as a piece of close reasoning, is an abuse of terms. Eloquent, spirited, effective to its purpose, it unquestionably is. Had argument been required to effect that purpose, there would have been cogent reasoning no doubt used ; but the effect is produced by plain statements, or powerful allusions to well-known facts ; and of ratiocination, or anything like it, there is none, if we except the answer to the anticipated explanation of Philip's motives by his partizans, an answer which consists in referring shortly to his conduct towards Messene and Argos. The Third Philippic is certainly a very fine oration — by some preferred to all the minor ones. But as far as elaborate and close reasoning goes, it is of the same description with the First and the Second. Part of' it consists in exposing the errors committed by the Athenians, to which the ill success of the public measures is ascribed; the rest is a description of Philip's conduct, for the purpose of showing that he had left them no longer the choice of war against him, or peace with him. In describing Philip's conduct, by far the most remarkable passage is one which, as a serious argument, never could have been urged to convince a mind undisturbed by the passions incident 54 DISSERTATION ON THE to great meetings, though in such a place it was calculated to produce a powerful effect. When Athens or Sparta, he says, injured the other Greek states, at least the wrong- doers were of their own family, and might be forgiven, as we bear with indiscretions in our own children which we never could tolerate in a slave or in an alien to our blood. But Philip is not only not a Greek — he is not even of illustrious barbaric extrac tion — he is a vile Macedonian — of a country that never produced so much as a good slave; and then he proceeds to recount the instances of his offensive interference in the affairs of Greece. He then in veighs against the treachery and corruptions of the Macedonian party, and holds up the example of the Oreitans and Eretrians, the Olynthians and Phocians, and introduces that famous passage, so justly admired, painting the sufferings that the Macedonian party among those nations brought upon their country. But in this place the subject is not treated with the force of reasoning displayed on the same topic in the Cher sonese Oration, where the argument is this — that even at Olynthus, in Thessaly, or at Thebes, no one durst have held the language of the Macedonian party at Athens, before Philip had done anything to gain over the state to his side — before he had delivered Potidsea to Olynthus, restored the Amphictyonic rights to Thessaly, and reconquered Bceotia for Thebes. The same argument is used in nearly the same words in the Fourth Philippic, which is made up of repetitions from the other minor orations, and especially from that upon the Chersonese, certainly the most argu mentative of the whole, and, as it seems, the finest in all respects. If, again, we examine the four lesser orations not usually termed Philippics, we shall find them still less argumentative in their texture than the Philippics which we have just gone through. Thus, the well- known and much admired speech for Megalopolis is a ELOQUENCE OF THE ANCIENTS. 55 calm and judicious statement of the sound principle of foreign policy, on which the modern doctrine of the balance of power rests — that the only point for a nation's consideration is, whether any given course of conduct will tend to help or to prevent a dangerous neighbour's aggrandizement ; and that no former con duct of any state should operate as a reason for or against helping it in its struggle with a common and formidable enemy. This oration has no figures, nor any impassioned bursts, or other striking passages ; and there is no reasoning in it, except perhaps where the orator tries to reconcile the conduct which he recommends, of helping the Arcadians against Sparta, with the aid formerly given to Sparta herself, by showing that the former, like the present policy, was governed by the principle of protecting the weak against oppression. As for the Great Speech itself, the whole consists rather of explanations, narrations of important suc cesses arising from his counsels, remarks upon the duty and the conduct of honest statesmen as contrasted with evil advisers (a very favourite topic in all the orations), and bitter invective against Jfischines. The question mainly at issue is notwithstanding scarcely touched upon — namely, the right of one who had not passed his accounts to have the honours of the Crown. But this, the main point, is purposely avoided, because he was quite unable to deal with it, the fact and the law being equally clear against him. He therefore assumes that his whole public life is put" in issue, and applies himself to that supposed issue alone. But the most celebrated passage of the whole has sometimes been given as an example of close reasoning, as show ing that, even in his most impassioned and figurative passages, the orator never loses sight for a moment of the point he is labouring, that every appeal he makes, every illustration he employs, in short, every word he utters, furthers the attainment of the object in view. 56 DISSERTATION ON THE This truly magnificent passage can never be too , often referred to, or its merits too highly extolled. That it is a piece of close and sustained argumentation, can assuredly not be affirmed with equal accuracy. He is maintaining that his counsels were wise, though the policy which they prescribed led to defeat ; and he begins with the well-known simile of the shipwreck, for which he says the captain of the vessel is not answerable, if he has taken all fit precautions. But it is singular that he should make the captain say, he did not govern (ekv^Ijovuiv) the ship, and compare this with what he himself had certainly a far better right to say, that he did not command the army (iurparriyovv) ; the analogy of the two positions consisting not in this, wherein it wholly fails, but in this, that both by sea and land, fortune is superior to all human efforts, and often sets all human precautions at defiance. It may also be observed, that were the comparison ever so apt, it assumes, like all such cases in point, the thing to be proved — namely, that all due precaution had been in fact taken, upon which the whole question turned. Another fine part of this passage is the invective against ^Eschines for never appearing but in times of distress, and the noted comparison of tu pt'iypara ko! to. crirdapaTa. But this in no way ad vances Demosthenes' own defence, nor indeed at all bears upon this part of his conduct. Then follows a most magnificent description of the courage which consists in risking all extremities rather than embrace an easy and tranquil slavery, illustrated with moving and spirit-stirring appeals to the ancient deeds of the Athenians. But this, in point of argument, goes for nothing ; the adversary being quite prepared to admit it all, and still to contend that Demosthenes had pursued a policy leading to the subjugation of the state, and to deny of course that they would ever have recommended submission or dishonour. This, there fore, is matter common to both parties, and could not ELOQUENCE OF THE ANCIENTS. 57 turn the scale in favour of either. Last of all, and to wind up the passage, comes the famous oath, and it is certain that in the midst of his vehement passion, he comes at once upon the honours awarded to the warriors slain in battle, and makes an application of the conduct held by the state in their case to the subject in question, by reminding his antagonist that those who failed were buried with funeral honours as well as those who conquered. Now, every way splendid and prodigious as this famous burst of elo quence is, in point of argument, and if viewed as a piece of reasoning, it is positively nothing. For it would then stand thus, and this would be the argu ment — -" My counsels led to your defeat at Chaeronea ; but because you won four or five great victories by following other counsels, or, which is the same thing, these counsels in other circumstances, therefore I was justified in the disastrous advice I gave you." Or thus, — "You gained great victories at Marathon, Salamis, Platsese, and Artemisium,* therefore you were justified in fighting at Chseronea, where you were defeated." Then as to the funeral honours, the argument would stand thus, — " The victorious soldiers who were slain in the successful battles of former times, were buried with public honours — -therefore the state rewards those who fall in defeat; and conse quently the counsels are not to be blamed which are bold, although they lead to disaster." It is quite clear that close' argument is not the peculiar merit of the passage, and that it cannot be regarded as a piece of reasoning at all. As a burst of most lofty and im passioned eloquence, it is beyond all praise, and the panegyrics of twenty-four centuries have left it inadequately marvelled at and admired. It was necessary to set right by some detail the matter referred to in the erroneous view of those who, * There were two battles fought at Artemisium, both successful, though one much more clearly so than the other. - 58 DISSERTATION ON THE mistaking vehemence, fulness of matter, and constant regard to the object in view, for sustained reasoning and close argument, have spoken of Demosthenes' Orations as they might of strict moral demonstrations, or chains of ratiocination — like the arguments main tained at the Bar upon legal points, or upon dry ques tions of fact — or like those inimitable specimens of pure logical deduction, the judgments, and yet more the speeches, of Sir William Grant. Had they been of this description, they would have been far less suited to the Athenian assembly before which they were delivered. Nevertheless, it is certain that far more argumentative speeches are well adapted to the British Parliament, and that the closest texture of reasoning is quite consistent with the loftiest legitimate flights of eloquence. Demosthenes could have addressed such an audience with all his fire and all his topics, and have reasoned as closely as his warmest eulogists have supposed him to have done at Athens. But such a display of his powers was not suited to that Athenian audience. What was wanted to move, to rouse, and also to please them, was a copious stream of plain intelligible observations upon their interests — appeals to their feelings — recollections of their past, and espe cially their recent history — expositions of the evils to be apprehended from inaction and impolicy of any sort — vindications of the orator's own conduct, upon grounds simple and uncontested — contrasts to show the inconsistency of those who differed from him, or refused to follow his advice — invectives, galling and unmeasured, against all his adversaries abroad and at home. By urging these topics in rapid succession, in the purest language, with a harmony never broken, save where the sense and the ear required a discord, he could move and could master the minds of the people, make their enemy quake upon his barbaric throne, and please the exquisite taste of the " fierce democratie " whom he was chiding and controlling. ELOQUENCE OP THE ANCIENTS. 59 Such was the first of Orators. At the head of all the mighty masters of speech, the adoration of ages has consecrated his place ; and the loss of the noble in strument with which he forged and launched his thun ders, is sure to maintain it unapproachable for ever. If in such varied and perfect excellences, it is required that the most prominent shall be selected, then doubt less is the palm due to that entire and uninterrupted devotion which throws his whole soul into his subject, and will not ever — no, not for an instant — suffer a rival idea to cross its resistless course, without being swiftly swept away, and driven out of sight, as the most rapid engine annihilates or shoots off whatever approaches it, with a velocity that defies the eye. So, too, there is no coming back on the same ground, any more than any lingering over it. Why should he come back over a territory that he has already laid waste — where the consuming fire has left not a blade of grass ? All is done at once ; but the blow is as effec tual as it is single, and leaves not anything to do. There is nothing superfluous — nothing for mere speak ing's sake — no topic that can be spared by the exi gency of the business in hand; so, too, there seems none that can be added — for everything is there and in its place. So, in the diction, there is not a word that could be added without weakening, or taken away without marring, or altered without changing its na ture, and impairing the character of the whole exqui site texture, the work of a consummate art that never for a moment appears, nor ever suffers the mind to wander from the subject and fix itself on the speaker. All is at each instant moving forward, regardless of every obstacle. The mighty flood of speech rolls on in a channel ever full, but which never overflows. Whether it rushes in a torrent of allusions,* or moves along in a majestic exposition of enlarged principles f * Appendix, No. II. t Ibid, No. III. 60 DISSERTATION. — descends hoarse and headlong in overwhelming invective* — or glides melodious in narrative and des cription,! or spreads itself out shining in illustration! — its course is ever onward and ever entire ; — never scattered — never stagnant — never sluggish. At each point manifest progress has been made, and with all that art can do to charm, to strike, and to please. No sacrifice, even the smallest, is ever made to effect — nor can the hearer ever stop for an instant to contemplate or to admire, or throw away a thought upon the great artist, till all is over, and the pause gives time to recover his breath. This is the effect, and the proper effect of Eloquence — it is not the effect of argument. The two may be well combined, but they differ specifi cally from each other. * Appendix, No. IV. f Ibid, No. V. X ibid, No. VI. 61 APPENDIX. No. I. EXTRACT FROM LORD ERSKINE'S SPEECH ON THE TRIAL OF JOHN STOCKDALE. " I have not been considering it through the cold medium of books, but have been speaking of man and his nature, and of human dominion, from what I have seen of them myself amongst reluctant nations submitting to our authority. I know what they feel, and. how such feelings can alone be repressed. I have heard them in my youth from a naked savage, in the indignant character of a prince surrounded by his subjects, 'addressing the Governor of a British colony, holding a bundle of sticks in his hand, as the notes of his unlettered eloquence : ' Who is it ?' said the jealous ruler over the desert, encroached upon by the restless foot of English adventure — ' Who is it that causes this river to rise in the high mountains, and to empty itself into the ocean ? Who is it that causes to blow the loud winds of winter, and that calms them again in the summer ? Who is it that rears up the shade of those lofty forests, and blasts them with the quick lightning at his pleasure ? The same Being who gave to you a country on the other side of the waters, and gave ours to us ; and by this title we will defend it !' said the warrior, throwing down his tomahawk upon the ground, and raising the war-sound of his nation. These are the feelings of subjugated man all round the globe ; and depend upon it, nothing but fear will control* where it is vain to look for affection."— Erskine's Speeches, vol. ii., p. 263. 62 APPENDIX. PERORATION OF MR. GRATTAN'S SPEECH ON THE DECLARATION OF IRISH EIGHTS. " Do not suffer the arrogance of England to imagine a surviving hope in the fears of Ireland ; do not send the people to their own resolves for liberty, passing by the tribunals of justice and the high court of Parliament ; neither imagine that, by any formation of apology, you can palliate such a commission to your hearts, still less to your children, who will sting you with their curses in your grave, for having interposed between them and their Maker, robbing them of an immense occasion, and losing an opportunity which you did not create, and can never restore. "Hereafter, when these things shall be history, your age of thraldom and poverty, your sudden resurrection, commercial redress, and miraculous armament, shall the historian stop at liberty, and observe — that here the prin cipal men among us fell into mimic trances of gratitude — they were awed by a weak ministry, and bribed by an empty treasury — and when liberty was within their grasp, and the temple opened her folding doors, and the arms of the people clanged, and the zeal of the nation urged and encouraged them on, that they fell down, and were prosti tuted at the threshold. " I might, as a constituent, come to your bar and demand my liberty. I do call upon you, by the laws of the land and their violation, by the instruction of eighteen counties, by the arms, inspiration, and providence of the present moment, tell us the rule by which we shall go — assert the law of Ireland — declare the liberty of the land. " I will not be answered by a public lie in the shape of an amendment ; neither, speaking for the subject's freedom, am I to hear of faction. I wish for nothing but to breathe in this our island, in common with my fellow-subjects, the air of liberty. I have no ambition, unless it be the ambition to break your chain and contemplate your glory. I never will be satisfied so long as the meanest cottager in Ireland has a link of the British chain clanking to his rags ; he may be naked, he shall not be in iron ; and I do see the APPENDIX. 63 time is at hand, the spirit is gone forth, the declaration is planted ; and though great men should apostatize, yet the cause will five ; and though the public speaker should die, yet the immortal fire shall outlast the organ which con veyed it, and the breath of liberty, like the word of the holy man, will not die with the prophet, but survive him." — Grattan's Speeches, vol. i., pp. 52, 53. No. II. ~B.p.&( ovri xp'/iftaTa ifocpigsiv ISov'hop.sSot., ovri avrol oTpar- sviadai iAoJ vvv dxeih^tpamv ' tlpinuv %»£tv,'oTi roi; OA/VxOV QlhOtS ITlTP&potV U.VT0VS, TOV o 'Rvtyqaiov iu&ovv' xaX'ijv y 6 oyp.o$ 6 Tuv ' EpETgtSaiv, ort rovg Vfteripov; p\iv 7rpio- Qli; dnifhaai, Kheirdpxp § ive&axiv avrov IjovKeiiovai ye p.u,u~Ti- yovfievot xai arqiQh.ovp.evoi' Kciha; 'Oh.vv6!av iQeiaaTO rav tg'ii pi'j Aaadevriv 'iirKapxov xetfioTovi/iadvTuv, tov \e * A7roh.h.avioiriv ir.Zah.6wav. — Phil. III. Oral. Grove., i. 128, "A noble* return have the Oreitans met with, for betaking themselves to Philip's creatures, and abandonjng Euphraus ! A noble treatment have the Eretrians received for dismissing your ambassadors and surrendering them selves to Clitarchus — they are now enslaved, and tortured, * The literal translation " fine" or " pretty" expresses the sense com pletely, but it is too colloquial. 64 APPENDIX. and scourged!* Nobly have , the Olynthians fared for giving the command of their horse to Lasthenes, while they banished Apollonides !" 'No. III. The Oration for the Megalopolitans is one instance of this. See for another example the following passage in the Chersonese Oration : — "darts pev ydt>, a " Avopig ' AHyvaioi, irapihav & avvolaei rri 7T0h.li, xptvn, onpeiet, aioaai, xaTr,yopi7, obhp.id raiir dvopia ¦nam, dhh.' 'i-jcav evi%vpov 7% avrov aoirnplag to iz'pog X*Piv vpiv "heyeio xal irohtTiiiaSai da0ah.ois Spacvg 'etniV oari; 0 VTrip roil /iehTioTov voh.'h.d rolg vperepois ivavriovrai fiovhiipacrt, xa.1 pyjoiv Xiyei irpo; %aptv, dh.h.d to fiihrtarov del, xal t%v roiav- ri\v izo"KiTeiav icpoaiPeirai, iv fi Trhiiovaiv it tv%yi xvpia yivnai k ol h.oytapol, rovruv o' dp-tporiaov VTriiidvvov vplv eavrov itapi%ei — oSto'j 'ear dvhpilog, xal y,piiatpog ye 5ro?UTij? 6 toiovto; ianv. —Orat. Graze., i. 106. This is translated in the version of the Speech subjoined. '0 ydp ovptSovhog xal 6 avxotyavTVig, iv ovoevl tuv aKhuv ovoiv iotxores, iv T0VT6J 'jzh.iioTov it.'h'h.vihuw oiatyipovatv' 6 p.iv yap ttpo Tav 7rpaypaTav yvtjp.Yiv d7roihnr7rov, irpos ov qv vpiv 6 dyuv, vtiq dpxtfg xxl Ivvaareias tov o$dxh.p,6v ixxexoppivov, ty\v xhiiv xareayora, rqv %eipa, to oxihog TiTYifiapiivov, %dv o ri av fiovhyHelvi pepog 'h tw^ij tow auparog napiheallai, toSto palms xal iTo!p.as wpoiepevov, uari tu hontq pnd ripijs xal lo^ns £**' — De Corona. Orat. Grose., i., 247. " I saw this same Philip, with whom your conflict lay, content to lose an eye, to have his shoulder broken, his hand and his leg mutilated, all for the sake of power and dominion, and abandoning to fortune whatever part of him she chose to take, readily and without a mur mur, so as what remained should survive to honour and glory."* Ov ydp hlGotg irelxtaa rqv irohiv, ovle ThlvOotg eyu, ovl' ii:l Toiiroig peyiarrov tuv ipavrov *«i ovxl tok xiixhov pivov tow llnpatag ovle tov clijTtog. — De Corona. Orat. Grcec., i., 325. "But the fortifications at which you mock, and the repairs I counted as deserving tho favour and the applause of the people— Why not ? Yet I certainly place thom far below my other claims to public gratitude For I have not fortified Athens with stone walls or with tiled roofs ; no, not I — neither do I plume myself much upon such works as these. — But would you justly estimate my out works, you will see armaments, and cities, and settlements, and harbours, and ships, and cavalry, and armies raised to defend us. — These are the defences that I have drawn round Attica, as far as human prudence could del'end her ; and with such as these I fortified the country at large, not the arsenal only or the citadel. Nor was it I that yielded to Philip's policy and his arms ; very far from it. — It was your captains and your allies through whom bis fortune triumphed. What are the proofs of it ? They are mani fest and plain." E/7re p.01, ti 1$, yiyviiaxav dxpiZug, Aqiin6lytp.e (ovlelg ydp rd roiavT dyvoeT), to'c piv tuv lltarav filov dotyxhii, xxl dirpxypova, xxl dxlvlvvov 6'vra, toc 8« tuv Trohirevopivav Qthalrtov, xal opxhepov, xal xaff ixdamv iipi^av dyuvuv, xxl xaxuv peorov, ov tov ijov^iov xal dv^aypova, dhXd toV iv to/; xivlivotg *!$; Phil. IV. — Oral. Grcec., i., 150. " Say then, Aristodemus, how comes it to pass that you, well knowing — what indeed no one can doubt — that private life is smooth, and peaceful, and secure, but the life of the statesman turbulent, and slippery, and chocquered with daily contentions and miseries, — you should not pre fer the tranquil and quiet lot, but that which is cast in tho midst of perils ?" No. VI. OholopiipaTa piv ye xal x6apov Tjjf nciheag, xal hpav xal hipivuv, x. h. t. — De Ordin. Rep. Orat. Graze., i., 174. APPENDIX. 69 See, too, the different instances of figures of comparison cited in the Dissertation, as well as many others, e. g. the following : — Ni/v iipiv heyag visip tuv itapihrthvUoTUv ; i'o-Trgf dv ei' rig iaroos, dadevovat piv rols xdpvovaiv iiaiav, pro hiyot puile litxvvot 8/ av dTrotpev^avTat tyiv voaov iiretl^ le rehevTijaeti Tts avruv, xal rd vopi^ipeva avT$ tpipoiro, dxohovSuv girl to pvijpa llifcioi El to xal to' iTolnaiv dvUpairos ovroal, ovx av dviSaviv. — De Corona. Orat. Grcec.,i.,S07. " Of what advantage is your eloquence to the country ? You now descant upon what is past and done ; as if a physician, when called to some patient in a sinking state, were to give no advice and prescribe no course whereby the malady might be cured ; but when death had happened and the funeral was performing, should follow it to the grave, and expound how the poor man would never have died had such and such things only been done." No. VII. Hasc, sicut exposui, ita gesta sunt Judices : insidiator superatus, vi victa vis, vel potius oppressa virtute audacia est. NihU dico, quid respublica consecuta sit : nihil, quid vos : nihil, quid omnes boni. Nihil sane id prosit Miloni, qui hoc fato natus est, ut ne se quidem servare potuerit, quin una rempublicam vosque servaret. Si id jure non posset, nihil habeo quod defendam. Sin hoc et ratio doctis, et necessitas barbaris, et mos gentibus, et feris natura ipsa prsscripsit, ut omnem semper vim, quacunque ope possent, a corpore, a capite, a vita sua propulsarent ; non potestis hoc facinus improbum judicare, quin simul judicetis, omni bus, qui in latrones inciderint, aut illorum telis, aut vestris sententiis esse pereundum. — Pro Milone, c. 11. This was the transaction as I have related it : — the assassin overcome, — force vanquished by force, or rather violence overpowered by valour. I say nothing of the country's gain, — nothing of yours, — nothing of all good men's. Let Milo take no benefit from that, holding as he 70 APPENDIX. docs his very existence upon tho condition of being unable, to save himself without saving by tho same act the com monwealth too. If the act, was' illegal, I have nothing to urge in its defence. But if it bo a lesson which reason has taught the sago, mid necessity tho savage, and general usage has sanctioned in nations, and nature has imparted to the beasts themselves, that all violence, whether oll'erod to our limbs, our beads, or our lives, should by every moans within our reach always bo repelled, then can you not adjudge this deed criminal, without at the same timo adjudging every one who falls among robbers, to perish either by their daggers, or by your sentence. Video adhuo oonstaro omnia, Judiees : IMiloni etiam utile fuisso Clodium vivere ; illi ad en, qiae ooncupiorat, opfatissimum interituni Milonis; odium fuisso illins in hunc acerbissinuun ; in ilium hujus nullum: cousueludinom illius perpetunm in vi inl'crenda ; hujus tantinn in rcpul- lenda, : mortem ub illo denuntiafum JVIilnni, et pra-dictani palnin ; nihil unquain iiudituni ex Milone : profectionis hujus diem illi notum ; rcdituin illius buio iguotum fuisso : hujus iter nceessarium ; illius otiam polius alienuni : huno prra se tulisse, se illo die Roma exiturum ; ilium eo die so dissimulasso rediturum : huno nullius rei mufasse consilium ; ilium causam inutandi eonsilii linxisse ; lmie., si insidiaretur, nootcm propo urbem expoctandam ; illi, efiani si huno non timeret, tanien aecessum ad urbom noeturnuiu fuisso mefu- endum. -Pro Milone, e. I!). Tho structure of our language, mid tbe want of tho Me and ilk, preclude any attempt at translating this noblo argument. Si hceo non gesta audirotis, sod pieta viderofis, tiunen apparcret, utcr essct insidiator, titer nihil oogitnret mali, quum alter voheretur in rheda pmnulatus, una soderet uxor. Quid horum non im])cditissinium ? vesfifus, an vcliieulum an comes? quid minus promptum ml pugniun, quum pcenula irretitus, rheda unpeditus, uxoro piene eonstrictus essct ? Videto nunc ilium, primum egredienfein o villa, suhito : our ? — vespori : quid neecsse est ? -tardo : qui oonvunit, id pravscrtim tumporis ? Devortit in villain APPENDIX. 71 Pompeii. Pompeium ut videret ? Sciebat in Alsiensi esse. Villam ut perspicerot ? Millies in ea fuerat. Quid ergo erat morse, et tergiversationis ? > Dum hie ventret, locum relinquere noluit. Age nunc, iter expediti latronis cum Milonis impecli- mentis comparate. Semper ille antea cum uxore : turn sine ea : nunquam non in rheda ; turn in equo : comites Grseculi, quocunque ibat, etiam quum in castra Etrusca properabat ; turn nugarum in comitatu nihil. Milo, qui nunquam, turn casu pueros symphoniacos uxoris ducebat, et aneillarum greges : ille, qui semper secum scorta, semper cxoletos, semper lupas duceret, turn neminem, nisi ut virum a viro lectum esse diceres. Cur igitur victus est ? Quia non semper viator a latrone, nonnunquam etiam latro a viatora occiditur : quia, quamquam paratus in imparatos Clodius, tamen mulier inciderat in viros. — Pro Milone, c. 20,21.If instead of hearing these transactions related, you saw them painted, it still would appear manifest which of the two parties was the conspirator, and which of them had no evil design ; when the one should be seen sitting in a carriage, with his wife, and in his cloak. What is there about him that leaves a limb free ? dress, or conveyance, or company ? Who so ill prepared for fight as yonder man who sits entangled in his mantle, cooped up in a carriage, tied down by his wife ? Look now at that other figure, — first leaving the city in a hurry ; and why ? In the evening — why should he now start r It is late — why should this time of all others suit him ? He turns aside to Pompey's Villa. In order to see Pompey ? But he is known to be at Alsium. In order to see the Villa ? But he has been there a thousand times before. Then why this delay, and this turning aside from the high road ? Because ho does not choose to leave the spot until Milo shall come up. Now, then, compare the journey of the robber prepared for action, with that of Milo encumbered in his route. Till then he had always travelled with his wife ; on that day he was alone. Before, he always was in his carriage ; that day he was on horseback. Formerly, wherever he went his Greeks were with him, even when on his march to the 72 APPENDIX. Etrurian camp. On this occasion there was no trifling accompaniments. Milo was now, for the first and only time in his life, attended with his wife's chorus singers, and her whole household of waiting- worn en. Clodius, who had always travelled with strumpets, always with boys, always with bawds, on that day had not a creature with him, but such as you would call picked men. How then came it to pass that he was overpowered ? Why, because it is not always the traveller who is overcome by the robber, but sometimes the robber too is slain by the traveller — because, although Clodius had fallen upon the unprepared, himself ready for action, yet the effeminate had fallen among men ! 73 TRANSLATION DEMOSTHENES. ORATION ON THE AFFAIRS OF THE CHERSONESE. INTEODTJCTION. Ceesobleptes, king of the country, had ceded the Cher sonese to Athens ; but Cardia, a principal town, having put itself under the protection of Philip, Diopeithes was despatched to plant a colony in the peninsula, according to the policy of the Greeks when they wanted to retain any acquisition of distant territory. This general, without any orders to that effect, but relying on support at home from the party of Demosthenes, attacked Maritime Thrace from the Chersonese, regarding Philip's conduct towards Cardia as a sufficient act of hostility to justify this aggression. The result of this incursion was a large booty, which he placed in safety in the peninsula. The Macedonian party of course inveighed bitterly against the proceedings of Diopeithes, as an infraction of the peace which nominally subsisted between Athens and Macedon. The inimitable speech, of which a translation is here attempted, was Demosthenes' answer to their attacks. It unites all the great qualities of his prodigious eloquence in a remarkable degree ; and, excepting in the article of invective, of which there, is hardly any, it may fairly be placed on the same Une with the Great Oration itself. Indeed, in point of argument and conciseness, and when judged by the severest rules of criticism, it has no superior. 74 APPENDIX. The attempt here made is accompanied with a deep feeling of its necessary failure in many essential particulars. The "thing aimed at has been to try how far the meaning of every word in the original could be given best in the English, and as nearly as possible, the Saxon idiom. Under the feeling how widely asunder the design and execution are placed, there is, perhaps, some consolation to be derived from reflecting, that the object in view is really unat tainable, as the excellence of the original is altogether unapproachable. It is rather an experiment upon our own language than upon the Greek. It would be well, Athenians,* if all who addressed you delivered themselves altogether without prejudice and without partiality, each propounding whatsoever he deemed most advisable, especially when you are assembled to deli berate upon public affairs of the greatest importance. But since some speakers are actuated partly by a spirit of con- tention,t partly by other similar motives, it remains for you, men of Athens, you, the people,J laying aside all other considerations, what things you deem best for the country, those things to resolve, and (those things) to do. The question, then, relates to the affairs of the Cher sonese, and the military operations which Philip has now for nearly eleven months been carrying on in Thrace. But this debate has for the most part turned upon what Dio peithes is doing and designs to do. Now, as for those * See Cesar's Speech (Sallust, Bell. Cat, c. 47), the exordium of which is nearly taken from this. f Upoayovrai xiyuv. Happily rendered by Leland, " whose speeches are dictated;" but the end of the paragraph is not literal, nor does it contain all the matter of the original. f 'Ypas rous ¦xoXXois. Neither Laharpe, nor Francis, nor Auger, take any account of this expression ; but it is material, being in opposition here to the '(viol and the xiyovns, from whom Demosthenes appeals to the whole people. Wolf sees this in its true light, and renders the phrase by riv V.pov (Apud Eeiske, Appar. Crit, i., 75.) In other instances the ol toXXo} are in opposition to the o\ oXiym, as towards the end of this Oration. CHERSONESE OEATION. 75 offences of which parties may be accused at any time, and which by law it rests with you to punish when you think fit, either immediately or after a while, I am of opinion that such matters may be reserved for further considera tion,* and that there is no necessity that either I, or any one else, should contendf much about them at present. But as for those places of which Philip, the unprovoked enemyj of the country, and at the head of a large force on the Hellespont,§ is endeavouring to surprise|| — places which, if we let slip this opportunity, we never again can hope to rescue % — as to them I am clear that we ought instantly to take our determination and make our preparations, nor suffer ourselves to be drawn aside from this' course by other contentions** and other charges. But astonished as I have been, Athenians, at many things that are oftentimes addressed to you, I own I have never been more astonished than to hear what was lately said in the Senate ; that it is the duty of a statesman to counsel either absolutely making war,tt or maintaining * 2jco«iii iy%aipfiv, "it is admissible to deliberate;" "there is time enough to look after them." Leland connects this with the antecedent xccv vt%n t)oxri, x. r. X., but this cannot be. f Some MSS. have Itrxupigttriai without the Si, "to pronounce con fidently," "dogmatically." t 'ivrdpxaiv. This cannot be left out as most translators do, Wolf among the rest; it is not here merely "actual" or "existing," but " beginning," " aggressor." § Leland's "hovering about the Hellespont" is not infelicitous, though perhaps not quite the true sense ; for he was actually in the countries crcgi 'EXXwmvros, and therefore was about, and not hovering about. He had alighted. || npoXafisiv, clearly is, " to anticipate" or " surprise," given well in Wolf, " praripere." Leland, only "making attempts on;" which gets rid of the meaning, instead of giving it. ^f Kii> aTx\\ uo-npriiraipiv, x. r. X. literally; "and if this once we be too late, we never shall be able to save them ;" the relative to connect this with the antecedent of a. < *• 'Axooiiavai, "runaway." Leland, "in the midst of foreign clamours and accusations." This is not the meaning. He refers to the accusations of which he had been speaking, and it is to those that the "running away" is supposed to be. The sense is given either by " runnmg away after," &c, or " being drawn aside by;" &c. tf *H vroXef&uv avrXais, l\ uyuv rhv ilpiimv. Their argument was — peace or war, one thing or another, either do nothing at all, or come to 76 APPENDIX. peace. Now the case is this.* If, indeed, Philip will remain at peace, and neither keep possession of our settle ments contrary to treaty, nor stir up all the world against us, there is nothing to be said, and peace must be strictly maintained ; nor, to say the truth,t do I perceive any other disposition on your part. But if the conditions to which we swore, and upon which the peace was made, are plain to be seen, lying written indeed before our eyes, and yet from the first, and before Diopeithes set sail with his settlers, who are now accused of having occasioned the war, Philip manifestly appears to have wrongfully seized many of our possessions, of which your decrees, and those ratified,J impeach him ; and also to have ever since been seizing the territories of the other Greeks, and of the Barbarians, and employing their force against us — how can these men thus speak of our only having the choice of at once going to war, or remaining at peace ? We have no choice at all in the matter ; nor any course but one left to pursue, and that of all others the most righteous and the most necessary, which, however, these men carefully overlook. And what is that course ? To chastise§ the first that attacks us ; unless, indeed, they shall contend that, so long as PhUip keeps away from Attica and the PirEeus, he neither wrongs this country nor makes war upon it ; but then, if it be on hostilities with Philip ; meaning, as there was no chance of going to war, that no objection should be made to whatever Philip did. * "Etrn \~i. Most versions give this — " Be it so," or " Be it peace," which, especially the latter, does not tally with the preceding sentence. But it seems plainly to refer to what follows. f Ti has here the force of " truly." There is a biting sarcasm in these words ; but the tone is purposely subdued, and as inoffensive as possible. Demosthenes often attacked them fiercely ; but he knew that the multitude can bear invective better than mockery. Leland fails exceedingly in this passage — "and 1 find it perfectly agreeable to you," viz., peace. J Kupia — " authoritative," " ratified," " confirmed." § ~Apwio-$ai rov irp'onpov x. r. X. Auger and Laharpe render this 'repousser' — Francis, "repel" — Leland, " repel force bj' force." Butthat is exactly what Demosthenes does not mean to recommend — he is for doing a great deal more, not merely for defensive operations — his whole argument being, that as Philip was substantially at war by his proceed ings in one quarter, the Athenians should not merely repel him there, hut carry the war into whatever parts of his dominions they could best attack ; and this indeed was the very point in issue as to Diopeithes, who had ravaged Thrace, and not made any attack upon Cardia. CHERSONESE ORATION. 77 grounds like these that they lay down the rules of justice, and trace* the limits of peace and war, it must be manifest to every one that they are propounding principles neither just in themselves, nor consonant with your honour,t nor even consistent with your safety ; nay, it so happens, that they are holding language utterly repugnant to what they charge upon Diopeithes ; for how can we give Philip free leave to do whatever he pleases, so he only keeps away from Attica, while Diopeithes must not assist the Thra- cians, upon pain of being charged with involving us in war ? But these things are narrowly scrutinized ;J and then we are told that it is an outrage for foreign troops to ravage the Hellespont — that Diopeithes has been committing piracy— and that we should not give way to him. Be it so — let him be checked§ — I have nothing to say against that. Nevertheless, I cannot help thinking, that if these men thus counsel you sincerely, and from mere love of justice ; as they are seeking to disband the whole force of the State by calumniating the General|| who alone provides its pay, they are bound to show you that Philip's army too will he disbanded,^! if you should follow their advice ; else you plainly see that they are only reducing * Leland has but one verb — " state the bounds of peace and justice ;" but there is never any reason for making Demosthenes more concise than he is — r« Hxtua rifatrxj, xtu rnt ilpivnv Spt%o*rcti. In what follows, he does not give the sense. f 'Attxra, " to be endured ;" but if it be so taken, there would seem to be an anticlimax in what follows, outf Sp7* xcfaxi. We must render it, " to be endured by you ;" and then the whole will stand, " dishonourable, and not even safe." % 'EliXiyx'vrai. It may either mean that Diopeithes' proceedings are so watched, and represented as equally bad with Philip's ; or that Philip's are admitted to be bad, and then that Diopeithes' are maintained to be no better. § TiytUlti raZra.. This can hardly mean, "let these things be so," because s#™, which goes before, means that. It must rather be, " Let this," «. e., checking Diopeithes — (the antecedent being pn inrpirm uirS) — " be done." Most versions omit the words altogether. || Leland has it, " that man whose care and industry support them ;" but it is rlv ifimixira xa) np'Xoira xpipartt, "the person command ing, and providing pay." 4 This is one of the many instances of most chaste and refined sarcasm which we meet with in Demosthenes, i. e., argument clothed in sarcasm of a subdued tone. 78 APPENDIX. the country to the very position which has already been the ruin of our affairs. For you are well aware, that in no one respect has Philip had the advantage of us more than in being always beforehand* with us. Constantly at the head of a regular army, and planning prospectively the operations he is to undertake, he suddenly springsf upon whomsoever he pleases, while we, after we have ascertained! that some blow has been struck, then, and not till then, we put ourselves in a bustle, and begin to prepare. Thus, I conceive it comes to pass, that whatever he has seized upon he possesses in all security, and that we, coming too late, incur a great expenditure, and inchr it all in vain, while displaying our enmity and our desire to check him ; but making the attempt after his work is done, we, in addition§ to our loss, cover ourselves with disgrace. Be then well aware, Athenians, that at this very time, * Tlponpis tpos ro7s vrpaypao-i yiyvicQat, is hardly rendered by "superior vigilance in improving all opportunities," (Leland) — for, beside being a paraphrase, it does not give the meaning so fully or so idiomati cally as the more literal version; nor does it so well maintain the contrast with vtrnp'i'^uv, i favourite charge with Demosthenes, and urged soon after this passage, Francis is better — " being in action before us." t 'EUaitpvvts sp' ov's . . vrupio-nv. This expression is very strong. A'lfvns or Htfvai, is either, " so quick as not to be seen" — " in the twinkling of an eye" — ex improviso — and ig is intensive of that sense ; or it may be, " from a place where he could not be seen." Udpio-riv itp' o'u\s — " is present with" — "appears like a ghost" — "arrives and is upon" — "springs upon." Leland has it, " in a moment strike the blow where he pleases," which is not so literal, nor nearly so expressive. \ Wulaipita, " made inquiry, and learnt." The same idea runs through this that gave rise to the remarkable illustration in the Second Philippic, " aio-if:p 01 fiupfiapot •xuxriuauo'iv.'' The whole of the passage here is very fine. The contrast of the Athenians with Philip is full of bitter sarcasm, and of argument too. Leland omits the vutdipsia, and only gives it as " waiting till some event alarm us," which n yiyvipivov can hardly be; the version is also paraphrastical, and lowers the excellent effect of first inquiring — then learning — and then acting. § Vipoo-oipxia-xavuv. The vpos indicates that the disgrace (aiV^i/ra) is over and above something else. Now, the only antecedents were the iaruvn which is mentioned, and the failure from being behind-hand; and loss implies both ; vpos therefore means, " in addition to our loss." The beauty of the diction in this passage is remarkable — iarxvno-iipiv and AwiXa/xUai, as well as vpoffoipxirrxtivuv. Aa-ravri, uncompounded, may be taken for "simple expenditure," though often used for "extravagance;" ivaxlirxu, the compound, is properly, " to squander." CHERSONESE ORATION. 79 the speeches and pretexts of these men are one thing,* but there is another thing actually doing and preparing by them — how Philip may best dispose of everything at his pleasure in absolute security, while you remain at home, and have no force beyond the walls. For only mark, first of all, what is now going on. He is at present lingering-f in Thrace with a large army, and according to the reports of those on the spot,J he is sending for strong reinforce ments from Macedon and Thessaly. If, then, waiting till the Etesian winds set in, he falls upon Byzantium, and lays siege to it, do you think, in the first place, that the Byzantians will remain as they are, infatuated, § and not call upon you, and require you to assist them ? I believe nothing of the kind ; nay, if even there were any other people whom they mistrusted more than they do you, they would rather admit that people into their city than sur render it to Philip, — always supposing him not to have already surprised and taken it. Should we, then, be wind- * T&XXx piv Xirn x. r. X. " The rest is words and pretext — what they are doing is," &c The antithesis in the idea, and not in the words, is a distinguishing feature of Demosthenes. He disdains everything verbal — all jingle. But here the contrast is as marked as if the structure had brought vrpdrnriti in opposition to xiytrm. t A/nT(i/3'i. Some, as Leland, give this merely as if it were expressive of his being, or being stationed, in Thrace. The word may be used, like commarari, for merely "staying;" but here it seems to havo its original sense. J o; tmp'ovrit. This can hardly mean, " those present here" — at the assembly— without reference to their having been on the spot. Wolf considers it, however, as merely those present. Eeiske inclines to think it means those coming from Macedon and Thessaly, and therefore aware of Philip having ordered troops from thence ; he thus rather connects >/ «f- ovrts with avt) MaxiSovlas, x. r. X., leaving psravipxtrut absolute. Hervagius, like most critics, puts the comma at rapivris. Auger gives it as meaning " persons on the spot" — not at Athens. As for Laharpe, ho hardly troubles himself with the original in this passage at all, but speaks of Philip having "been long in Thrace and Thessaly !" Leland, " ns we are hero informed." Francis, " as persons here present assure us." § "An/« means more than " folly" — it is " mental alienation ;'' and Demosthenes intends so to describe the conduct of the Byzantines, in having rebelliously left the Athenians, and joined Chios and Ehodes against them ; vapaxaXitrm eSr' aiiaxrnv means more than " to have recourse for assistance," as Leland has it ; or " to implore assistance," as Francis ; it seems to imply a claim, as entitled to aid. 80 APPENDIX. bound here, and unable to make sail from hence,* if no succour is provided there, nothing can prevent the destruc tion of that people. But these men, it will be said, are absolutely moon- stricken, — they are in some paroxysmt of mental alienation. Be it so, — they must nevertheless be saved ; for our own safety requires that. Besides, J it is by no means so certain after all, that Philip will not invade the Chersonese. In deed, to judge by the letter which he has addressed to you, he means to attack our troops there. If then this army be now kept on foot, it will be able both to protect that province, and to harass' him ; but if once it is broken up, and he marches upon the Chersonese, where are we, and what shall we do ? Bring Diopeithes to trial ? Good God ! and how will our affairs be the better for that ? But we shall send succours from hence ?§ And what if we are prevented by the winds ? But then they say he won't come ? And who, I ask, will be answerable for that ? But, Athenians, do you observe and reflect upon the approaching season of the year, at which there are some who actually think you should leave the Hellespont defenceless, and abandon it to Philip ? What then ? If on his return from Thrace, and neither marching upon the Chersonese, nor upon Byzantium (for this possibility must also be taken into the account), he attacks Chaleis and * 'EvlivV avawXiuo-ai — ''sail from hence;" not "thither," as Leland has inadvertently rendered it. f Kaxotiaipavoutri — vvrtpfiaXXovtriv avoia. Leland fails signally here, — " The extravagance and folly of these men exceed all hounds," is feeble and unlike the original, — to say nothing of extravagance exceeding bounds. Francis is better, because more literal; "they are absolutely (hi A/a) possessed by some evil daemon." Wolf, "intemperiis agitantur, nee ad eorum amentiam addi quiequam potest." It is plain that coming after xaxohaipovoua-i, the uwipfidXXeucri must imply an excess of mental alienation. The former is expressed by " moonstricken," or " evil in fluence," — the latter by " paroxysm." | The passage that follows is one of extraordinary force and rapidity ; it is truly Demosthenic. § TioyiHffoptv tzurois. This certainly looks as if the rous iv Xtppovfoai meant the Chersonesitans, as some have rendered it, there being no airo) to assist, if the army supposed to be broken up be the Athenian army in the Chersonese. In some MSS. and editions, as that of Hervagius, it is a'urol. Eeiske prefers airols, and holds the meaning to be, "the Cher sonesitans." — Orat. Grcec, Appar. Crit., ii., 211. CHERSONESE ORATION. 81 Megara, as he lately did Oreus, whether will it be better to attack him there and let the war come close to Attica, or to find employment for him at a distance ?* I certainly prefer the latter course. All, therefore, who have seen and considered these things, will not only refrain from attempts to discredit and to destroy the army which Diopeithes is doing his utmost to raise for our defence; but will exert themselves to provide anotherf army for his assistance, to aid him with funds and credit,^ and to co-operate with him in whatever other way they can serve him best. For, if Philip were asked, — Had you rather these troops now under Diopeithes, such as they are (on that head I say nothing), were well maintained, held in honour by the Athenians, and reinforced by the state, — or that they were dissipated and annihilated, in deference to the slanders and the charges of certain per sons ? — I can have no doubt that he would prefer the latter alternative. And is it possible that some among ourselves should be doing the very things for him which he himself would pray the gods to grant him ? And can you still ask how it happens that tbe affairs of this country have gone to ruin ? I would fain,§ therefore, lay before you without * 'Exsi — " there" — but as ividh had previously been used, and with the sense of "there," because referring to the immediate antecedent, Chalcis and Megara, ixsi must be taken ta mean the former antecedent — the Chersonese — where occupation was to be found for him. f 'Eripxv. Francis, Auger, Laharpe, Leland, &c., conceive that they are translating idiomatically when they render this by " reinforcements.' ' The literal version is much to be preferred. " Instead of trying to destroy the army he has raised (or is raising), you ought to raise another In addition." — Utoo-'rapourxiuaXuv — "to prepare beforehand" — "to have it ready when he shall want it." f IvviuveopoovTas ^pripdruiv. This is always rendered as merely sup plying money or funds, — but the trvv appears to imply a helping him to obtain, as well as furnishing— and that would mean credit as well as funds. § BouXopai roivuv vrpls upas x. r. X. is not to he rendered merely, as Francis and others do — " I shall" — or " I will now" — or " I am going to ;" nor is Leland even so near the mark as that, when, by a paraphrase quite wide of the meaning, he translates, " let me entreat you to examine." Wolf, by the literal " velim autem," comes much nearer. Why both he and Leland should make the i%trxtrai and o-xi-^aclai (aorists of an active and a middle verb) have the neuter or rather passive sense of "being examined," as by you, is not easily perceived. The former word, though generally meaning to " inquire" or " examine," also signifies to " go over" — the latter here i3 plainly to " consider" or " examine." G 82 APPENDIX. reserve the present state of these affairs, and examine what we are now doing, and how we are dealing with them.* We neither choose to contribute our money, nor dare we serve in person, nor can we keep our hands off the public funds, nor do we furnish to Dio peithes the supplies voted, nor will we give him credit for supplying himself ; but we must cavil at him, and pry into the reasons and the plans of his future operations, and whatever else can most harass him ; nor yet, though we are in this temper of mind, does it please us to take our affairs into our own hands,t but while in words we extol those who hold a language worthy of the nation, by our actions we co-operate with those who are thwarting their counsels. As often as any one rises to speak, you are wont to ask him, What there is to be done ? But I am disposed to ask you,f What there is to be said ? For if you will neither contribute, nor serve in person, nor abstain from * Xpdpitf airo7s, " comporting" or " bearing ourselves" — but in refer ence to the vrapovrtt. irpdyparx — therefore " dealing with them." Wolf, indeed, renders it ^paipiSa ro7s vrapoutrt -xpaypatri Orat Graic, Appar. Crit, i., 78. This is one of the finest passages in this or in any of the Orations, and it is remarkable how little it loses by translation — provided that be literal. Every word, however, is to be weighed ; none can be added nor any taken away; both qualities of the great orations here unite — the " nihil detrahi," and the "nihil addi." — Quintil. The variation of the governing verb in the first branch of the passage — TiouXopxi — roXpdai — tuvapai, &c., and the repetition of the other set of verbs, omitting the governing ones, are to be noted. The celebrated address of Adam to Eve, in Milton, is framed on a like plan, and is an illustration of that great man's close study of the Greek orators — to which so many of the speeches in Paradise Lost bear testimony. t Wolf suggests that ra r,p'ir:pY auraiv trpdrrtiv may possibly mean, — "do each man his own duty, without obstructing others," — which is ingenious, and bears on the argument about obstructing Diopeithes. But 'ixaurros, or some such word, would have been added ; as the text stands, it hardly can bear the meaning suggested .Apud Eeiske, Appar. Crit., i.,79. Leland is quite distant from the meaning — "Thus we proceed, quite regardless of our interests." % This part of the passage is full of refined wit: — almost playful wit. " If you will be always asking us orators, whose business is with saying, to tell you what you are to do ; why, really we must needs turn the tables upon you, whose business is with doing, and ask you to tell us what we are to say." When Cicero said, "jocos non contigisse," he must have meant jests and not wit. CHERSONESE ORATION. 83 the public funds, nor furnish the supplies .assigned to Diopeithes, nor leave him to supply himself, nor resolve to take charge of your own affairs, I know not what to say ; — for if you give such license to those who would carp at him, and tear his conduct in pieces on account of what, according to them, he is going to do, and if you listen to charges thus made by anticipation,* what can any one say ? But what may be the result of all this,f it is fit that some of you should now learn ; and I will speak my mind freely ; for on any other terms I cannot submit to speak at all. All your commanders who ever sailed from hence, I will answer for it with my life, J levied contributions on tho Chians and the Erythrseans, and whatever other people they could, I mean, of course, Asiatics. Such as have a vessel or two, take less,§ — such as have a greater force, more ; and those who pay, do not give for nothing either the smaller sums or the larger ; they know better what they are about ; they purchase for their merchants, freedom from injury and from pillage when their ships are passing * Tlpixarnyopoivrm — "accusing beforehand" — refers to their prying before mentioned, and grounding charges not on what he had done, but on what he was by their own surmises supposed to be going to do, — *v Qaei x. r. X. This is the winding up of the whole of their unreasonable conduct, and is very strikingly put. | Francis thinks o, n ro'tvw ouvarai x. r. X. must mean that Diopeithes could do all these things, — i. e., by the usage of military men, and that Demosthenes means now to prove it. But he does not — he only shows the effects of the conduct of the accusers and the Athenians. Next, there is no ouros or ixuvos. Then, there seems no antecedent to ravra, in the sense of things already done by Diopeithes ; and nothing that he intended to do was specified, but only reference was made to his accusers surmising something, without saying what ; and accordingly Francis and Lucchesini, whom in this he follows, to support this gloss, are obliged to alter the sense and to add, "what he has done." Leland is here right. The Greek is confessedly somewhat obscure. Wolf gives " Quid his rebus proficiatur," which is followed by Tourreil ; and, with less than his accus tomed diffuseness and paraphrase, by Auger ; and Laharpe has the same sense, but, as usual, leaving out part, and inserting something else. X ndras — " audacule dictum" says Eeiske, Appar. Crit., ii., 216 ; but he thinks the "durities dictionis" softened by supposing " tyrant" to be put for " power of a tyrant !" Leland almost entirely loses this fine figure : " Eubcea is commanded by his two tyrants ; the one, just opposite to Attica, to keep you perpetually in awe. Francis makes them both kings, but applies imrsi%iras to neither; he introduces Eretria, and makes it the thing fortified — as if d> T^wnotuiiQai •jroXipuvxurov, seems an order of words that con nects the negative with the "pretending," and not with the "making war." But it must mean— -rgotrvoitto-Sai pit oroXspuv durov. § This rendering is necessary to preserve the force and beauty of the original ; which is not constructed so as to connect the three cases put by the predicate of Philip's "telling the parties," but by that of his "not making war." It is negative — ouhi — and it is to be remarked how much greater the effect of this is, than if it had been put merely that " he told the Oreitans, and told the Pherasans, and told the Olynthians." 96 APPENDIX. Alternative* there is none between that and resistance, which we will not make, and repose, which we cannot have. And indeed the perils to which you and other states are exposed are very different ; t for it is not the conquest of this city that Philip aims at, but its utter destruction. He has long been well aware that you will not be bis slaves, nor could if you would — for you have been habituated to command. And to give him embarrassment by seizingj on a critical juncture — that you can do better than all the world besides. Since then the struggle is for our existence, it behoves us to bear in mind, that they, who have sold themselves to him, shall be holden in utter detestation, and suffer all extremities. § — For it is impossible, it is quite impossible, that you should overcome your enemy without the walls, until you have chastised the enemies within the walls who are devoted to him ; and against whom if you are driven as upon rocks || standing in your course,1 you must inevitably be too late to cope with the others. For how does it happen, think you, that he should be insulting you, (as I cannot for my part conceive but he is,) * "AXXs — pira%ii — "other middle course." But can this be called "middle course" between the two things mentioned, and both of which are negatived? Or is it, — "There is no middle course" between being slaves, and one or other of the two things which are both out of the question? But the literal meaning is certainly that being slaves is a middle course, and the only one. Then, middle between what two others ? "Alternative" seems therefore the fit word. f "Twp raiv 'iffaiv is rendered by Wolf and others, de iisdem rebus. "Equality," however, as if "equal terms of danger," seems involved in the expression — though there is no material difference. Perhaps " unequal" renders it better. X "Av xaiplv xdfatjre. Leland's "at an unfavourable juncture," is not so good as the literal sense, "if you take, or seize on, a critical juncture;" besides, unfavourable means rather the relation of the juncture to the party seizing it, which is contrary to the sense here. Unless Leland means a juncture unfavourable for Philip, the version is nonsense; tbe meaning clearly is, " if you have a favourable juncture," " if you have an opportunity." § ' Airorupvxvittai — " utterly beat to death." The ptttiiv is so much less than "extreme abhorrence," that it comes strangely with this violent expression. || "fto-fio vpafioXoi; •rpofftfrx'tovrxs. This is a figure which, however expressive, is for Demosthenes somewhat strong. TipojioXos is " a rock in the way of a surge and on which it beats." Leland's "s'rike on these, as so many obstacles," has all the violence of the figure — i. e., the striking CHERSONESE ORATION. 97 and already menacing you, while he is overcoming others by his kindness, if by nothing else ? Just as he allured the Thessalians into their present servitude by loading them with favours ; and no one can tell by how many gifts, Potidsea among the rest, he gained over the wretched Olynthians. — The Thebans he is now seducing, after de livering over to them Bceotia, and relieving them from a long* and burdensome warfare. Now while these states have obtained each some accession of territory, yet they have all either already had to undergo extremities known to every one, or, happen what may, they will assuredly have to undergo them.f But you — I say nothing of the losses you have already sustained— but how have you been over-reached in the very act of making peace ! and of how much have you been stript ! Has not Phocis been wrested from you ? and Thermopylae ? and your settlements in Thrace ? and Doriscus, Serrium, Cersobleptes himself ? Nay, does not Philip now hold the capital of Cardia, and does he not avow it ? Why then does he conduct himself in so different a fashion towards others and towards you ? It is because this is the only country where men have full licence to plead the cause of the enemy, and can in perfect safety receive his pay, while they are harassing you whom he has been despoiling of your possessions. — It was not safe in Olynthus to plead the cause of Philip, while yet the bulk of the Olynthian people had not been won over J by upon enemies, without its picturesque effect. Francis is as bad as pos sible here, — " these quicksands upon which yon strike, and upon which you are unavoidably shipwrecked," — there being nothing like quicksands in the case, and nothing like striking on them if there were. * UoXXou. Wolf properly considers this epithet as applied to the length of the Phocian or Sacred war, and not to its character, as some understand it; voXXou, says he, ivr) rou paxpou. Some MSS., however, omit the word altogether. It cannot mean "great" or "heavy;" — ^aXssrou conveys that sufficiently. — Eeiske, Appar. Crit, i., 83. t Leland gives this happily by a paraphrase ; it is certainly not at all literal — but it brings out the meaning. Tbey "are either involved in calamities known to the whole world, or wait with submission for the moment when such calamities are to fall upon them.". It should have been "await the moment;" "wait for" implies a desire for their coming. X Im'.uvifovS'oraiv — a word of much force, and indicating being received into the fellowship of one Power despoiling another — (like the Jackal with the Lion). The repetition of the same words in this fine passage, and the pursuing the same plan in the structure of the sentences throughout, are to H 98 APPENDIX. the possession of Potidsa. It was not safe in Thessaly to plead the cause of Philip, while yet the Thessahan multi tude had not been won over by his casting out their tyrants and restoring their Amphictyonic right. It was not safe in Thebes, before he had restored Bceotia and extirpated the Phocians.— But at Athens, after he has not only stript us of Amphipohs and the country of Cardia, but has fortified* Eubcea like a citadel to overawe you, and is now invading Byzantium too,-— at Athens it is quite safe to plead Philip's cause If Hence it is that some of these advocates of his, from beggars have suddenly become rich, and from being nameless and obscure, are now eminent and distinguished, while you, on the contrary, from eminence have fallen into obscurity, and from affluence to destitu tion. For I certainly consider the real wealth of a state to consist in alliances — credit — public esteem ; of all which you are destitute ; and while you hold these in contempt and suffer them to be taken from you, Philip has become prosperous, and powerful, and terrible to all, Greek as well as Barbarian, and you desolate and low, — splendid, no doubt, in the unenvied J profusion of your merchandise, be noted. — Also the troXXaiv and the nxiilous, — though Leland drops these, and says merely " the Thessalians." Auger is to be admired, however, chiefly in contriving to leave out all mention of cither the truviuiriirovSorm, the itoXXuv, or the irXhhus. But tho obv may also imply "gaming over with," or "as well as" the bribed (pio- furo)) at Athens. Some MSS. have «oXirm for voXXSv. Some too, and Hervagius follows these, have ibvriirovioros, without the o-uv, the second time it is used — and ptiTiv before it ; but the bulk of the authority is the other way. — Reiske, Appar. Crit., ii., 220-242. Some too have o'ux av n* — "it would not have been." It is just possible that the oroXXo) and vXvihs may merely mean "people;" but the probability seems greatly in favour of a more intensive and specific meaning. * Kararxwaxoros. Taylor gives this as the reading of his Aldine, instead of the present participle, which is in most editions ; and the past certainly seems the right reading, both because it appears from the former passage that he had done the thing during the ten months of his absence from Macedon, and because of the xa) vvv -rapiovros which follows. f Leland, who had appeared to see the fitness, because the effect, of retaining the same words throughout as in the Greek, pecat ad extremum — and drops them, changing the expression when he comes to the applica tion to Athens — where retaining them was the most essential. X 'Atptov'ia, though generally used for " abundance," yet here probably retains its original sense. In the Fourth Philippic, however, the expres sion is ibirtip'ia, (xxrx. rhv ayopav) "exuberance," " plentifully supplied CHERSONESE ORATION. 99 but in all the things really valuable to a state, ridiculously destitute. But I perceive that some of our politicians by no means lay down the same rule for themselves and for you. They would have you remain quiet whatever wrongs are done to you ; whUe they can never remain quiet themselves, though no one is wronging them at all. Then, whoever rises, is sure to taunt me with — " So you will not bring forward a proposition for war ; you will not venture upon that, timid and sph-itless as you are ? " * For my part, self-confident, t and forward, and shameless I am not, and may I never be ! Yet do I account myself by a great deal more courageous than those whose counsels are marked with such temerity. He, in truth, Athenians, who regardless J of the interests of the country, condemns, confiscates, rewards,§ impeaches, by no means proves his courage in all this ; for if he insures his own safety by such speeches and such counsels as are calculated to win your favour, he may be daring with very little || hazard. But he who for your good oftentimes thwarts your inclinations ; who never speaks to gain your good graces, but consults your interests always ; who,^f markets ; '* which repetition of the passage Leland seems to have had in his eye when he translated Mm, " markets." * "AroXpos xa) pxXaxls — "unenterprising and soft," literally; and perhaps that would be the best translation. f @paaus. To be taken in a bad sense, but probably not in the worst. The Lexicographers make tdptras, fiducia audacia, — " self-confldence " or "boldness," the root; but why it should be the root, and not derived from $x('piai — the origin, in all likelihood, of our word "dare," — does not appear. X Tlxpiiaiv — "overlooking," "neglecting." § Eeiske refers from ilimo-i here to XuetZutat afterwards; but the common reading being such, he changes it to xxraxxpiXS'^xi, and says that it affords an explanation of tfimri. It rather seems as if ilium explained x«e''Ztr^x'- The simplicity and sincerity of this fine passage are quite moving. || 'At^aXus. This is clearly the meaning. Wolf drops the word, or makes it intensive to tpaaus — for his version is "audax et confidens est." Hervagius has a comma after xo-faXSs, disconnecting it with tpxo-us, which is plainly wrong. Leland merely says, " therefore he is daring." ^f Commentators have often expressed surprise at this passage, as if it made the adoption of measures exposed to chance more than governed by design, a test of a statesman's capacity; whereas, choosing such as are under Xoyio-pos, "reasoning," "calculation," is plainly the wiser course. But the meaning may merely be, that when, or in case he is compelled to 100 APPENDIX. should he recommend some course of policy in which fortune may baffle the calculations of reason, yet makes himself accountable for the event* — he is indeed coura geous — an invaluable citizen he truly is ; t not like those who to an ephemeral popularity have sacrificed the highest interests of their country — men whom I am so far from wishing to rival,J or from regarding as true patriots, that were I called upon to declare what services I had rendered our common country, although I have to tell, Athenians, of naval commands, and public shows, of supplies raised and of captives ransomed, and other passages of a like description,§ to none of them all would I point but to this one thing, that my policy has never been like theirs. Able I may be, as well as others, to impeach, and distribute, || and proscribe,^ and whatever else it is they are wont to do ; yet on none of these grounds did I ever choose to take my place,** or rest my pretensions, either through avarice or ambition. I have persevered in holding that language which lowers me in your estimation as compared adopt a policy more under the control of fortune than prudence, he still takes the responsibility on himself. Perhaps xa) should be read xav, "and if." In the great Oration, the same topic is dwelt upon, and in others. * Literally, "makes himself accountable for both;" that is, both the goodness of the plan according to reasoning a priori, and the event with all the risks of fortune — both the design and the chances. t The rhythm and inversion of the Greek are here beautiful. The force of the passage depends mainly on these — the diction, as regards the words themselves, being extremely simple— ouros \rr dvlpuo;, xa) Xpwipos yt woxlrn; I roiouros innv. The particle yi gives also much beauty to the simple diction. X ZnXotv may be "envy" as well as "emulate." § QiXxvtponrlas. If the "such other" refers to the last antecedent, QiXxv'p aixia is here " humanity ; " but if to the whole enumeration, it must mean love of the community at large, i. e., "public spirit." \\ Xapl^o-ta, may certainly mean "ingratiate" generally; but coupled with the peculiar marks of ingratiating here given, viz. ™ xp'ivuv and ri lYipiiuv, it is plain we must take ri XapiZ,trlon(leig avroig Toiovvres. Comme des Uons qu'on grille dans leur cage, ils vous enferment dans vos murs ; ils vous tendent a manger pour vous cares- ser, vous apprivoiser, vous faire dociles a leur main." Assuredly no English master of paraphrase ever went so far as to lend a cage of lions to Demosthenes for rhe torical uses. Writers of this class must be supposed to consider the old Greek a far worse orator than them selves. There follows a discussion of the merits of different editors of the Greek, Reiske, Bekker, &c, which is here omitted, as the text is not given. I 114 APPENDIX. " Rugby, January 28, 1840. " Mx Loed,~I found your Preface here on my arrival this evening. " I am very much obliged to you for your kind mention of me, and I certainly am nnt insensible to the honour of being in any way connected with your translation of Demosthenes' speech. But if the notice had been less flattering, I should have thought it better. I sympathize most heartily with what you say of the requisites of a translator, and there has all along seemed to be a beautiful fitness in an orator being translated by one to whom both oratory and political life were practically familiar. But I imagine that you over-estimate even the Greek of Leland and Francis. English Greek scholarship, I believe, even a few years back, was far short of that perfect knowledge of the language which is not uncommon now ; such a know ledge, I mean, as enables a man to read Greek with exactly the same understanding and feeling as if it were English, so that he never goes through a process of mental transla tion, but the Greek speaks directly to the mind without any interpreter. I think that a want of this knowledge has hampered former translators, as well as that other great defect to which you allude so truly. — I remain, my Lord, your very faithful, obedient servant, " T. Arnold." INAUGURAL DISCOURSE ON BEING INSTALLED LORD RECTOR OF THE UNIYERSITY OF GLASGOW. April 6, 1825. THE VERY REVEREND THE PRINCIPAL, THE PROFESSORS, AND THE STUDENTS, OF THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. I beg leave to inscribe this Discourse to you, in token of my great respect. Although the opinions which it sets forth are the result of mature deliberation, yet, as it was written during tbe business of the Northern Circuit, it will, I fear, as far as regards the composition, not be deemed very fit to appear before the world. Nevertheless, I have yielded a somewhat reluctant assent to the request of many of your number, who were of opinion that its publication would prove beneficial. H. BROUGHAM, R. INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. It now becomes me to return my very sincere and respectful thanks for the kindness which has placed me in a chair, filled at former times by so many great men, whose names might well make any comparison formidable to a far more worthy successor. While I desire you to accept this unexaggerated expression of gratitude, I am anxious to address you rather in the form which I now adopt, than in the more usual one of an unpremeditated discourse. I shall thus at least prove that the remarks, which I deem it my duty to make, are the fruit of mature reflection, and that I am unwilling to discharge an important office in a perfunctory manner. I feel very sensibly, that if I shall now urge you by general exhortations, to be instant in the pursuit of the learning, which, in all its branches, flourishes under the kindly shelter of these roofs, I may weary you with the unprofitable repetition of a thrice told tale ; and if I presume to offer my advice touching the conduct of your studies, I may seem to trespass upon the province of those venerable persons, under whose care you have the singular happiness to be placed. But I would nevertheless expose myself to either charge, for the sake of joining my voice with theirs, in anxiously entreating you to believe how incomparably the present season is verily and indeed the most pre cious of your whole fives. It is not the less true, be cause it has been oftentimes said, that the period of youth is by far the best fitted for the improvement of 118 INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. the mind, and the retirement of a college almost exclu sively adapted to much study. At your enviable age, everything has the lively interest of novelty and fresh ness ; attention is perpetually sharpened by curiosity ; and the memory is tenacious of the deep impressions it thus receives, to a degree unknown in after life ; while the distracting cares of the world, or its beguiling pleasures, cross not the threshold of these calm retreats ; its distant noise and bustle are faintly heard, making the shelter you enjoy more grateful ; and the struggles of anxious mortals embarked upon that troublous sea, are viewed from an eminence, the security of which is rendered more sweet by the pros pect of the scene below. Yet a little while, and you too will be plunged into those waters of bitterness; and will cast an eye of regret, as now I do, upon the peaceful regions you have quitted for ever. Such is your lot as members of society; but it will be your own fault if you look back on this place with repent ance or with shame ; and be well assured that, what ever time — ay, every hour — you squander here on unprofitable idling, will then rise up against you, and be paid for by years of bitter but unavailing regrets. Study, then, I beseech you, so to store your minds with the exquisite learning of former ages, that you may always possess within yourselves sources of rational and refined enjoyment, which will enable you to set at nought the grosser pleasures of sense, whereof other men are slaves; and so imbue yourselves with the sound philosophy of later days, forming yourselves to the virtuous habits which are its legitimate offspring, that you may walk unhurt through the trials which await you, and may look down upon the ignorance and error that surround you, not with ' lofty and super cilious contempt, as the sages of old times, but with the vehement desire of enlightening those who wander in darkness, and who are by so much the more endeared to us by how much they want our assistance, INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. 119 Assuming the improvement of his own mind and of the lot of his fellow-creatures to be the great end of every man's existence, who is removed above the care of providing for his sustenance, and to be the indispens able duty of every man, as far as his own immediate wants leave him any portion of time unemployed, our attention is naturally directed to the means by which so great and urgent a work may best be performed ; and as in the limited time allotted to this discourse, I cannot hope to occupy more than a small portion of so wide a field, I shall confine myself to two subjects, or rather to a few observations upon two subjects, both of them appropriate to this place, but either of them affording ample materials for an entire course of lectures — the study of the Ehetorical Art, by which useful truths are promulgated with effect, and the purposes to which a proficiency in this art should be made subservient. It is an extremely common error among young persons, impatient of academical discipline, to turn from the painful study of ancient, and particularly of Attic composition, and solace themselves with works rendered easy by the familiarity of their own tongue. They plausibly contend, that as powerful or captivating diction in a pure English style is, after all, the attain ment they are in search of, the study of the best English models affords the shortest road to this point ; and even admitting the ancient examples to have been the great fountains from which all eloquence is drawn, they would rather profit, as it were, by the classical labours of their English predecessors, than toil over the same path themselves. In a word, they would treat the perishable results of those labours as the standard, and give themselves no care about the im mortal originals. This argument, the thin covering which indolence weaves for herself, would speedily sink all the fine arts into barrenness and insignificance. Why, according to such reasoners, should a sculptor or 120 Inaugural discourse. painter encounter the toil of a journey to Athens or to Rome ? Far better work at home, and profit by the labour of those who have resorted to the Vatican and the Parthenon, and founded an English school, adapted to the taste of our own country. Be you assured that the works of the English chisel fall not more short of the wonders of the Acropolis, than the best productions of modern pens fall short of the chaste, finished, nervous, and overwhelming compositions of them that " resistless fulmined over Greece." Be equally sure that, with hardly any exception, the great things of poetry and of eloquence have been done by men who cultivated the mighty exemplars of Athenian genius with daily and with nightly devotion. Among poets there is hardly an exception to this rule, unless may be so deemed Shakspeare, an exception to all rules, and Dante, familiar as a contemporary with the works of Roman art, composed in his mother tongue, having taken, not so much for his guide as for his " master," Virgil, himself almost a translator from 'the Greeks. But among orators I know of none among the Romans, and scarce any in our own times. Cicero honoured the Greek masters with such singular observance, that he not only repaired to Athens for the sake of finishing his rhetorical education, but afterwards continued to practise the art of declaiming in Greek ; and although he afterward fell into a less pure manner through the corrupt blandishments of the Asian taste, yet do we find him ever prone to extol the noble perfections of his first masters, as something -placed beyond the reach of all imitation. Nay, at a mature period of his life, he occupied himself in translating the greater orations of the Greeks, which composed almost exclusively his treatise, " De optimo genere oratoris ;" as if to write a discourse on oratorial perfection, were merely to present the reader with the two immortal speeches upon the Crown. Sometimes we find him imitating, even to a literal version, the beauties of those divine INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. 121 originals, — as the beautiful passage of ^Eschines, in the Timarchus, upon the torments of the guilty, which the Roman orator has twice made use of, almost word for word ; once in the oration for Sextus Roscius, the earliest he delivered, and again in a more mature effort of his genius, the oration against L. Piso.* I have dwelt the rather upon the authority of M. Tullius, because it enables us at once to answer the question, Whether a study of the Roman orators be not sufficient for refining the taste? If the Greeks were the models of an excellence which the first of Roman orators never attained, although ever aspiring after it, — nay, if so far from being satisfied with his own success, he even in those his masters found some thing which his ears desiderated — (ita sunt avidse et capaces ; et semper aliquid immensum infinitumque desiderantj) — he either fell short while copying them, or he failed by diverting his worship to the false gods of the Asian school. In the one case, were we to rest satisfied with studying the Roman, we should only be * Mtt yxp a'tztrfa, rxs ruv ditxvjpdratv apXas ana Szuv, &XX' ouX uv ¦ecvtlpaivaiv airsXysias yivlo6xt' pwi robs '/io"i(lvixoras, xxQamp iv rxls rpayaiiiais, Xloivas iXabvllv xx) xoXd^Eiv oxtr)v tipp'svais' dXX' ai urpoorsrs7s rob iraiparos rioo!>x), xa) ro pnhiv ixxvov hyCtaixl, rubra vXyipo7 too Xyirrr'pix — raur ti; rov iieaxrpoxiXnira ipfctfidZfit — raurd iffriv sxdffraj Tlatvri — raura trapxxlXtUiTa) ro7g vtots, x' T' X. — AI2XIN. xxrie Ti- pdpX'V- Nolite enim putare, quemadmodum in fabulis ssepenumero videtis, eos, qui aliquid impie scelerateque commiserint, agitari et perterreri Furiarum tawlis ardentibus. Sua quemque fraus, et suus terror maxime vexat; suum quemque scelus agitat, amentiaque afncit ; sua? maire cogitationes conscientiseque animi terrent. Hse sunt impiis assiduse domesticseque Furiae ; quae dies noctesque parentum poenas a consceleratissimis filiis repetant. — Pro Sexto Soscio Amerino. Nolite enim putare, ut in scena videtis, homines consceleratos impulsu deorum terreri Furiarum tsedis ardentibus. Sua quemque fraus, suum facinus — suum scelus — sua audacia, de sanitate ac mente deturbat. Hse sunt impiorum Furiae — hse flammse — has faces In Luc. Calp. Pisonem. The great improvement in Cicero's taste between the first and the second of these compositions is manifest, and his closer adherence to the original. He introduces the same idea, and in very similar language, in the Treatise, De Legg., lib. i. f Orator., c. 29. 122 INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. imitating the imperfect copy, instead of the pure original — like him who should endeavour to catch a glimpse of some beauty by her reflection in a glass, that weakened her tints, if it did not distort her features. In the other case, we should not be imitating the same, but some less perfect original, and looking at the wrong beauty ; — not her whose chaste and simple attractions commanded the adoration of all Greece, but some garish damsel from Rhodes or Chios, just brilliant and languishing enough to captivate the less pure taste of half civilized Rome. But there are other reasons too weighty to be passed over, which justify the same decided preference. Not to mention the incomparable beauty and power of the Greek language, the study of which alone affords the means of enriching our own, the compositions of Cicero, exquisite as they are for beauty of diction, often re markable for ingenious argument and brilliant wit, not seldom excelling in deep pathos, are nevertheless so extremely rhetorical, fashioned by an art so little con cealed, and sacrificing the subject to a display of the speaker's powers, admirable as those are, that nothing can be less adapted to the genius of modern elocution, which requires a constant and almost exclusive atten tion to the business in hand. In all his orations which were spoken (for, singular as it may seem, the remark applies less to those which were only written, as all the Verrine, except the first, all the Philippics, except the first and ninth, and the Pro Milone), hardly two pages can be found which a modern assembly would bear. Some admirable arguments on evidence, and the credit of witnesses, might be urged to a jury ;* several pas- * There is a singular example of this in the remarks on the evidence and cross-examination in the oration for L. Flaccus, pointed out to me by my friend Mr. Scarlett (now Lord Abinger), the mention of whose name affords an illustration of my argument, for, as a more consummate master of the forensic art in all its branches never lived, so no man is more con versant with the works of his predecessors in ancient times. Lord Erskine, too, perhaps the first of judicial orators, ancient or modern, had well studied the noble remains of the classic age. INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. 123 sages, given by him on the merits of the case, and in defence against the charge, might be spoken in mitiga tion of punishment after a conviction or confession of guilt, but, whether we regard the political or forensic orations, the style, both in respect of the reasoning and the ornaments, is wholly unfit for the more severe and less trifling nature of modern affairs in the senate or at the bar. Now, it is altogether otherwise with the Greek masters : Changing a few phrases, which the difference of religion and of manners might render objectionable, — moderating, in some degree, the viru lence of invective, especially against private character, to suit the chivalrous courtesy of modern hostility, — there is hardly one of the political or forensic orations of the Greeks that might not be delivered in similar circumstances before our senate or tribunals ; while their funeral and other panegyrical discourses are much less inflated and unsubstantial than those of the most approved masters of the Epideictic style, the French preachers and Academicians. Whence this difference between the masterpieces of Greek and Roman eloquence ? Whence but from the rigid steadiness with which the Greek orator keeps the object of all eloquence perpetually in view, never speaking for mere speaking's sake ; — while the Latin Rhetorician, " in- genii sui nimium amator," and, as though he deemed his occupation a trial of skill, or display of accomplish ments, seems ever and anon to lose sight of the subject matter in the attempt to illustrate and adorn it ; and pours forth passages sweet indeed, but unprofitable — fitted to tickle the ear, without reaching the heart. Where in all the orations of Cicero, or of him who almost equals him, Livy, " mirce facundice homo,"* shall we find anythmg like those thick successions of short questions, in which Demosthenes oftentimes forges, as it were, with a few rapidly following strokes, * Quintilian. 124 INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. the whole massive chain of his argument ; — as, in the Chersonese, El 8' aira% 8ta$0ap»/a)K£Te iirvdovTO — svidwKav iavrovg — aTrwXovro. But though the more business-like manner of modern debate approaches much nearer the style of the Greek than the Latin compositions, it must be admitted that it falls short of the great originals in the closeness, and, as it were, density of the argument; in the habitual sacrifice of all ornament to use, or rather in the constant union of the two ; so that, while a modern orator too frequently has his speech parcelled out into compartments, one devoted to argu ment, another to declamation, a third to mere orna ment, as if he should say, — " Now your reason shall be convinced ; now I am going to rouse your passions ; and now you shall see how I can amuse your fancy," — the more vigorous ancient argued in declaiming, and made his very boldest figures subservient to, or rather an integral part of his reasoning. The most figurative and highly wrought passage in all antiquity is the famous oath in Demosthenes ; yet, in the most pathetic part of it, and when he seems to have left the farthest behind him the immediate subject of his speech, led away by the prodigious interest of the recollections he has excited ; when he is naming the very tombs where the heroes of Marathon lie buried, he instantly, not abruptly, but by a most felicitous and easy transition, returns into the midst of the main argument of his INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. 125 whole defence — that the merits of public servants, not the success of their councils, should be the measure of the public gratitude towards them — a position that runs through the whole speech, and to which he makes the funeral honours bestowed alike on all the heroes, serve as a striking and appropriate support. With the same ease does Virgil manage his celebrated transition in the Georgics ; where, in the midst of the Thracian war, and while at an immeasurable distance from agricultural topics, the magician strikes the ground on the field of battle, where helmets are buried, and suddenly raises before us the lonely husbandman, in a remote age, peacefully tilling its soil, and driving his plough among the rusty armour and mouldering remains of the warrior.* But if a further reason is required for giving the preference to the Greek orators, we may find it in the greater diversity and importance of the subjects upon which their speeches were delivered. Besides the number of admirable orations and of written arguments upon causes merely forensic, we have every subject of public policy, all the great affairs of state, successively forming the topics of discussion. Compare them with Cicero in this particular, and the contrast is striking. His finest oration for matter and diction together is in defence of an individual charged with murder, and there is nothing in the case to give it a public interest, except that the parties were of opposite factions in the state, and the deceased a personal as well as political adversary of the speaker. His most exquisite per formance in point of diction, perhaps the most perfect prose composition in the language, was addressed to one man, in palliation of another's having borne arms against him in a war with a personal rival. Even the Catilinarians, his most splendid declamations, are principally denunciations of a single conspirator; the *. Georg. I., 493. Scilicet et tempus veniet, cum finibus illis, &c. 126 INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. Philippics, his most brilliant invectives, abuse of a pro fligate leader ; and the Verrine orations, charges against an individual governor. Many, indeed almost all the subjects of his speeches, rise to the rank of what the French term Causes celebres ; but they seldom rise higher.* Of Demosthenes, on the other * The cause of this difference between the Greek and Roman orators has been so strikingly described by a learned friend of mine, in the follow ing note upon the above passage, that the celebrity of his name, were I at liberty to mention it, is not required to attract the reader's notice : — "In Athens," says he, " an incessant struggle for independence, for power, or for liberty, could not fail to rouse the genius of every citizen — to force the highest talent to the highest station — to animate her counsels with a holy zeal — and to afford to her orators all that, according to the profoundest writers of antiquity, is necessary to the sublimest strains of eloquence. 'Magna eloquentia sicut flamma materia alitur, a motibus excitatur, urendo clarescit.' Hers were not the holiday contests of men who sought to dazzle by the splendour of their diction, the grace of their delivery, the propriety and richness of their imagery. Her debates were on the most serious business which can agitate men — the preservation of national liberty, honour, independence, and glory. The gifts of genius and the perfection of art shed, indeed, a lustre upon the most vigorous exertions of her orators — but the object of their thunders was to stir the energies of the men of Athens, and to make tyrants tremble, or rivals despair. Rome, on the other hand, mistress of the world, at the time when she was most distinguished by genius and eloquence, owned no superior, hated no rival, dreaded no equal. Nations sought her protection, kings bowed before her majesty, the bosom of her sole dominion was disturbed by no struggle for national power, no alarm of foreign danger. While she maintained the authority of her laws over the civilized earth, and embraced under the flattering name of allies those who could no longer resist ber arms, the revolt of a barbarian king, or the contests of bordering nations with each other, prolonged only till she had decided between them, served to amuse her citizens or her senate, without affecting their tranquillity. Her government, though essentially free, was not so popular as the Athenian. The severity of her discipline, and the gravity of her manners, disposed her citizens less to those sudden and powerful emotion* which both excited and followed the efforts of the Greek orators. It seems, therefore, reason able to conclude, that the character of Roman eloquence would be distin guished more by art than by passion, by science than by nature. Tlie divisions and animosities of party, no doubt, would operate, and did operate with their accustomed force. But these are not like the generous flame which animates a whole nation to defend its liberty or its honour. The discussion of a law upon which the national safety could not depend, the question whether this or that general should take the command of an army, whether this or that province should be allotted to a particular minister, whether the petition of a city to be admitted to the privileges of INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. 127 hand, we have not only many arguments upon cases strictly private, and relating to pecuniary matters (those generally called the 'IBiwtikoI), and many upon interesting subjects, more nearly approaching public questions, as, the speech against Midias, which relates to an assault on the speaker, but excels in spirit and vehe mence perhaps all his other efforts ; and some which, though personal, involve high considerations of public policy, as that most beautiful and energetic speech against Aristocrates ; but we have all his immortal ora tions upon the state affairs of Greece — the Ikpi 2rs0d- vov, embracing the history of a twenty years' adminis tration during the most critical period of Grecian story; and the Philippics, discussing every question of foreign policy, and of the stand to be made by the civilized world against the encroachments of the barbarians. Those speeches were delivered upon subjects the most important and affecting that could be conceived to the whole community ; the topics handled in them were of universal application and of perpetual interest. To introduce a general observation the Latin orator must quit the immediate course of his argument; he must for the moment lose sight of the object in view. But the Athenian can hardly hold too lofty a tone, or carry his view too extensively over the map of human affairs for the vast range of his subject — the fates of the whole commonwealth of Greece, and the stand to be made by free and polished nations against barbaric tyrants. Roman citizens should be granted, or whether some concession should be made to a suppliant king ; — these, with the exception of the debates on the Catiline conspiracy, and one or two of the Philippics, form the sub jects of a public nature, on which the mighty genius and consummate art of Cicero were bestowed. We are not, therefore, surprised to find that those of his orations, in which he bears the best comparison with his rival Demosthenes, were delivered in the forum in private causes. In some of these may be found examples of perhaps the very highest perfection to which the art can be carried, of clear, acute, convincing argument, of strong natural feeling, and of sudden- bursts of passion ; always, however, restrained by the predominating influence of a highly cultivated art— an art little concealed." 128 INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. After forming and chastening the taste by a diligent study of those perfect models, it is necessary to acquire correct habits of composition in our own language, first by studying the best writers, and next by translating copiously into it from the Greek. This is by far the best exercise that I am acquainted with for at once attaining a pure English diction, and avoiding the tameness and regularity of modern composition. But the English writers who really unlock the rich sources of the language, are those who flourished from the end of Elizabeth's to the end of Queen Anne's reign ; who used a good Saxon dialect with ease, but correctness and perspicuity, — learned in the ancient classics, but only enriching their mother tongue where the Attic could supply its defects, — not overlaying it with a profuse pedantic coinage of foreign words, — well prac tised in the old rules of composition or rather colloca-- tion (o-vv0e<7ic), which unite natural ease and variety with absolute harmony, and give the author's ideas to develop themselves with the more truth and simplicity when clothed in the ample folds of inversion, or run from the exuberant to the elliptical without ever being either redundant or obscure. Those great wits had no foreknowledge of such times as succeeded their brilliant age, when styles should arise, and for a season prevail over both purity, and nature, and antique re collections — now meretriciously ornamented, more than half French in the phrase, and to mere figures fantas tically sacrificing the sense — now heavily and regularly fashioned as if by the plumb and rule, and by the eye rather than the ear, with a needless profusion of ancient words and flexions, to displace those of our own Saxon, instead of temperately supplying its defects. Least of all could those lights of" English eloquence have imagined that men should appear amongst us professing to teach composition, and igno rant of the wholeof its rule's, and incapable of relishing the beauties, or indeed apprehending the very genius INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. 129 of the language, should treat its peculiar terms of expression and flexion as so many inaccuracies, and practise their pupils in correcting the faulty English of Addison, and training down to the mechanical rhythm of Johnson the lively and inimitable measures of Bolingbroke. But in exhorting you deeply to meditate on the beauties of our old English authors, the poets, the moralists, and perhaps more than all these the preach ers of the Augustan age of English letters, do not imagine that I would pass over their great defects when compared with the renowned standards of severe taste in ancient times. Addison may have been pure and elegant ; Dryden airy and nervous ; Taylor witty and fanciful ; Hooker weighty and various ; but none of them united force with beauty — the perfection of matter with the most refined and chastened style ; and to one charge all. even the most faultless, are exposed — the offence unknown in ancient times, but the besetting sin of later days — they always overdid — never knowing or feeling when they had done enough. In nothing, not even in beauty of collocation and har mony of rhythm, is the vast superiority of the chaste, vigorous, manly style of the Greek orators and writers more conspicuous than in the abstinent use of their prodigious faculties of expression. A single phrase — sometimes a word — and the work is done — the desired impression is made, as it were, with one stroke, there being nothing superfluous interposed to weaken the blow, or break its fall. The commanding idea is singled out ; it is made to stand forward ; all auxiliaries are rejected; as the Emperor Napoleon selected one point in the heart of his adversary's strength, and brought all his power to bear upon that, careless of the other points, which he was sure to carry if he won the centre, as sure to have carried in vain if he left the centre unsubdued. Far otherwise do modern writers make their onset; they resemble rather those cam- K 130 INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. paigners who fit out twenty little expeditions at a time, to be a laughing-stock if they fail, and useless if they succeed : or if they do attack in the right place, so divide their forces, from the dread of leaving any one point unassailed, that they can make no sensible im pression where alone it avails them to be felt. It seems the principle of such authors never to leave anything unsaid that can be said on any one topic ; to run down every idea they start ; to let nothing pass ; and leave nothing to the reader, but harass him with anticipating everything that could possibly strike his mind. Compare with this effeminate laxity of speech, the manly severity of ancient eloquence ; or of him who approached it, by the happy union of natural genius with learned meditation; or of him who so marvellously approached still nearer with only the familiar knowledge of its least perfect ensamples. Mark, I do beseech you, the severe simplicity, the subdued tone of the diction, in the most touching parts of the "old man Eloquent's"* loftiest passages. In the oath, when he comes to the burial place where they repose by whom he is swearing, if ever a grand epithet were allowable, it is here — yet the only one he applies is ayaOoiig — pa roiig iv Mapadojvt. rrpoKiv- cvvtva-avrag rwv rrgoyovwv — Ko-7rEp o-Kr)7rroc rj xstpappovg. It is worthy of remark, that in by far the first of all Mr. Burke's orations, the passage which is, I believe, universally allowed to be the most striking, owes its effect to a figure twice introduced in close resemblance to these two great expressions, although certainly not in imitation of either ; for the original is to be found in Livy's description of Fabius's appearance to Hannibal. Hyder's vengeance is likened to " a black cloud, that hung for a while on the declivities of the mountains," and the people who suffered under its devastations, are described as "enveloped in a whirlwind of cavalry." Whoever reads the whole passage, will, I think, admit that the effect is almost entirely produced by those two strokes ; that the amplifications which accompany them, as the " blackening of the horizon" — the " menacing meteor" — the "storm of unusual fire," rather disarm than augment the terrors of the original black cloud ; and that the "goading spears of the drivers," and "the trampling of pursuing horses," somewhat abate the fury of the whirlwind of cavalry. — AouXsiioucu ys paariyovptvoi kol arpefiXov pivot, says the Grecian master, to describe the wretched lot of those who had yielded to the wiles of the conqueror, in the vain hope of securing their liberties in safety. Compare this with the choicest of Mr. Burke's invectives of derision and pity upon the same subject — the sufferings of those who made peace with Regicide France — and acknow ledge the mighty effect of relying upon a single stroke to produce a great effect — if you have the master hand to give it. " The King of Prussia has hypothecated in trust to the Regicides his rich and fertile territories on the Rhine, as a pledge of his zeal and affection to the cause of liberty and equality. He has been robbed with unbounded liberty, and with the most levelling equality. The woods are wasted ; the country is ravaged ; property is confiscated ; and the people are 132 INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. put to bear a double yoke, in the exactions of a tyran nical government, and in the contributions of a hostile conscription." " The Grand Duke of Tuscany, for his early sincerity, for his love of peace, and for his entire confidence in the amity of the assassins of his family, has been complimented with the name of the ' wisest Sovereign in Europe.' This pacific Solomon, or his philosophic cudgelled ministry, cudgelled by English and by French, whose wisdom and philosophy between them have placed Leghorn in the hands of the enemy of the Austrian family, and driven the only profitable commerce of Tuscany from its only port." Turn now for refreshment to the Athenian artist — KaXrjv y ol TroXXot vvv u7T£tXi)0aavov against those who had betrayed the various States of Greece to Philip. It is. indeed a noble pas sage ; one of the most brilliant, perhaps the most highly coloured, of any in Demosthenes ; but it is as condensed and rapid as 'it is rich and varied — "Avdpio- ttoi piapol^ ko\ KoXaKtg koi aXaoropEc, r\KptVTr\piaapivoi rag iaynov tKaaroi TrarplSag, rfiv iXevdeplav 7rpo- 7TE7rroe). "Eort (says his illustrious anta gonist) 8' ov\ 6 X6yog rov pi'iropog rlpiog, ovh" 6 r6vag rije tjxovtig, aXXa to raira wpoaipelaOai rote 7roXXote — ( i trip Kthct.) It is but reciting the ordinary praises of the art of persuasion, to remind you how sacred truths may bo most ardontly promulgated at the altar — the cause of oppressed innocence bo most powerfully defended — tho inarch of wicked rulers be most triumphantly resisted — defiance tho most terrible be hurled at the oppres sor's head. In great convulsions of public affairs, or in bringing about salutary changes, every one confesses how important an ally oloquonco must be. But in peaceful times, when the progress of events is slow and even as tho silent and unheeded pace of time, and 138 INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. the jars of a mighty tumult in foreign and domestic concerns can no longer be heard, then too she flourishes, — protectress of liberty, — patroness of improvement, — guardian of all the blessings that can be showered upon the mass of human kind ; nor is her form ever seen but on ground consecrated to free institutions. " Pacis comes, otiique socia, et jame bene constitutse reipublicae alumna eloquentia." To me, calmly revolv ing these things, such pursuits seem far more noble objects of ambition than any upon which the vulgar herd of busy men lavish prodigal their restless exertions. To diffuse useful information, — to further intellectual refinement, sure forerunner of moral improvement, — to hasten the coming of the bright day when the dawn of general knowledge shall chase away the lazy, lingering mists, even from the base of the social great pyramid ; — this indeed is a high calling, in which the most splendid talents and consummate virtue may well press onward, eager to bear a part. I know that I speak in a place consecrated by the pious wisdom of ancient times to the instruction of but a select portion of the community. Yet from this classic ground have gone forth those whose genius, not their ancestry, ennobled them ; whose incredible merits have opened to all ranks the temple of science ; whose illustrious example has made the humblest emulous to climb steeps no longer inaccessible, and enter the unfolded gates, burning in the sun. I speak in that city where Black having once taught, and Watt learned, the grand experiment was afterwards made in our day, and with entire success, to demonstrate that the highest intellectual cultivation is perfectly com patible with the daily cares and toils of working men ; to show by thousands of living examples that a keen relish for the most sublime truths of science belongs alike to every class of mankind. To promote this, of all objects the most important, men of talents and of influence I rejoice to behold INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. 139 pressing forward in every part of the empire ; but I wait with impatient anxiety to see the same course pursued by men of high station in society, and by men of rank in the world of letters. It should seem as if these felt some little lurking jealousy, and those were somewhat scared by feelings of alarm — the one and the other surely alike groundless. No man of science needs fear to see the day when scientific excellence shall be too vulgar a commodity to bear a high price. The more widely knowledge is spread, the more will they be prized whose happy lot it is to extend its bounds by discovering new truths, or multiply its uses by inventing new modes of applying it in practice. Their numbers will indeed be increased, and among them more Watts and more Franklins will be enrolled among the lights of the world, in proportion as more thousands of the working classes, to which Franklin and Watt belonged, have their thoughts turned to wards philosophy; but the order of discoverers and inventors will still be a select few, and the only material variation in their proportion to the bulk of mankind will be, that the mass of the ignorant multi tude being progressively diminished, the body of those will be incalculably increased who are worthy to admire genius, and able to bestow upon its possessors an im mortal fame. To those, too, who feel alarmed as statesmen, and friends of existing establishments, I would address a few words of comfort. Real knowledge never pro moted either turbulence or unbelief ; but its progress is the forerunner of liberality and enlightened tolera tion. Whoso dreads these, let him tremble ; for he may be well assured that their day is at length come and must put to sudden flight the evil spirits of tyranny and persecution, which haunted the long night now gone down the sky. As men will no longer suffer themselves to be led blindfold in ignorance, so will they no more yield to the vile principle of judging 140 INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. and treating their fellow-creatures, not according to tho intrinsic merit of their actions, but according to the accidental and involuntary coincidence of their opinions. The Great Truth has finally gone forth to all the ends of the earth, that man shall no more RENDER ACCOUNT TO MAN POR HIS BELIEF, OVER WHICH he has himself no control. Henceforward, nothing shall prevail upon us to praise or to blame any one for that which he can no more change than he can the hue of his skin or the height of his stature. Henceforward, treating with entire respect those who conscientiously differ from ourselves, the only practical effect of the difference will be, to make us enlighten the ignorance on one side or the other from which it springs, by instructing them, if it be theirs ; ourselves, if it be our own, to the end that the only kind of unanimity may be produced which is desirable among rational beings — the agreement proceeding from full conviction after the freest discussion. Far then, very far, from the universal spread of knowledge being'the object of just apprehension to those who watch over the peace of the country, or have a deep interest in the permanence of her institutions, its sure effect will be the removal of the only dangers that threaten the public tranquillity, and the addition of all that is wanting to confirm her internal strength. Let me, therefore, indulge in the hope, that, among the illustrious youths whom this ancient kingdom, famed alike for its nobility and its learning, has pro duced, to continue her fame through after ages, pos sibly among those I now address, there may be found some one — I ask no more — willing to give a bright example to other nations in a path yet untrodden, by taking the lead of his fellow-citizens, — not in frivolous amusements, nor in the degrading pursuits of the ambitious vulgar, — but in the truly noble task of en lightening the mass of his countrymen, and of leaving his own name no longer encircled, as heretofore, with INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. 141 barbaric splendour, or attached to courtly gewgaws, but illustrated by the honours most worthy of our rational nature — coupled with the diffusion of know ledge — and gratefully pronounced through all ages by millions whom his wise beneficence has rescued from ignorance and vice. To him I will say, " Homines ad Deos nulla, re propius accedunt quam salutem homini- bus dando : nihil habet nee fortuna tua majus quam ut possis, nee natura tua melius quam ut velis servare quamplurimos." This is the true mark for the aim of all who either prize the enjoyment of pure happiness, or set a right Value upon a high and unsullied renown. — And if the benefactors of mankind, when they rest from their pious labours, shall be permitted to enjoy hereafter, as an appropriate reward of their virtue, the privilege of looking down upon the blessings with which their toils and sufferings have clothed the scene of their former existence ; do not vainly imagine that in a state of exalted purity and wisdom, the founders of mighty dynasties, the conquerors of new empires, or the more vulgar crowd of evil-doers, who have sacri ficed to their own aggrandizement the good of their fellow-creatures, will be gratified by contemplating the monuments of their inglorious fame : — theirs will be the delight — theirs the triumph — who can trace the remote effects of their enlightened benevolence in the improved condition of their species, and exult in the reflection, that the prodigious change they now survey, with eyes that age and sorrow can make dim no more — of knowledge become power — virtue sharing in the dominion — superstition trampled under foot — tyranny driven from the world — are the fruits, precious though costly, and though late reaped, yet long enduring, of all the hardships and all the hazards they encountered here below! RHETORICAL CONTRIBUTIONS EDINBUEGH EEYIEW. ROMAN ORATORS, CICERO* A free translation of two chosen Orations, without any apparent object of illustration, and with no great feli city of execution, is evidently a proceeding which calls for the cognizance of the Courts Critical. Mr. Kelsall does not profess to give his book as a help to learners of the Latin language. He has added so few notes to the text, that explanation is clearly not his purpose ; he propounds no new readings, nor discusses those of other commentators. Excepting a page of advertise ment, he gives nothing by way of remark upon the original, or the matters connected with the history of the cause ; and the postscript concerning Sicily is so avowedly unconnected with the body of the work, that he apologizes for introducing it. We are reduced, therefore, to the necessity of concluding that his view in this publication, is to clothe the two celebrated orations in an English dress, and exhibit a specimen either of Roman eloquence to those who are ignorant of Latin or of English diction applied to the topics and sentences — in a word to the composition — of the Roman orator. An adventure more alarming to such as have well studied the original, and are masters of * The two last Pleadings of Marcus Tuttius Cicero against Caius Verres. Translated and illustrated with Notes. By Charles Kelsall, Esq., au thor of a letter from Athens. To which is added, a Postscript, contain ing Remarks on the State of Modem Sicily. 8vo, pp. 370. White, London, 1812. 14G ROMAN ORATORS. tho (comparative niceties of tbe two languages, ciinnofc easily be conceived, unless perhaps Iho translation ol" Tacitus or the Goorgics -which seems to bo quito impossible. Wo suspect that Mr. Kels.iJI's literary courage would be somewhat diminished by a re intimate acquaintance with tbo tongues which it is tho nature of a design liko his to bring into (contrast anil competition. A few words may bo premised upon both parts of tho design. The object of enabling mere Knglish readers to taste tho beauties of ancient oratory, seems scarcely worth tho pains which it requires. Kor, in tho first place, there aro not many persons who care much for ancient oratory, to whom if is not accessible in the original languages, — a, remark peculiarly applicable to tbo Latin: and then it is clear that the success of this attempt must be necessarily very limited, since the most exquisite translation, one wnich should be both perfectly close and perfectly Knglish, would after all bo only English oratory, in the part of rhotoric which consists of diction strictly so called. Bid, it is plain that in order to enter into the spirit of the original thus far, in order to relish all its beauties, savo those peculiar to tho Latin, not merely a perfect translation would be required, but such n knowledge of customs, history, institutions — in short, of everything belonging to the Romans, except their language --n-s can scarcely bo expected to (exist in any one ignorant of that lan guage. Without such a knowledge', however, tho best possible translation must be a motley work in most eases; a, production full of incongruity, and neither a Latin speech nor an English one. Tin! other object (hen seems to be the only one which deserves much attention ; and, doubtless,' there is a good deal to interest us in the experiment upon the genius of tbe two languages. Tho point is to show how tho ancient orator would have expressed himself had everything been as it was in Rome, except tho CIOERO. 147 language, and to see how near an English speech we can come, by skilful translation. As this must bo a mere experiment on language, there can be no advan tage in choosing subjects which tend to perplex it, by presenting forms of expression peculiar to ancient times. Nor, indeed, where tho plan is to obtain a piece which will read as nearly as possible like an English speech, ought we to take one, the topics of which must perpetually remind us that it is a translation, Tho manners of the nations of antiquity were so differ ent from ours — their religious systems, more especially, present such a contrast and their mythology exer cised so constant an influence upon their feelings and habits of thinking, that scarcely any of their oratori cal compositions can bo found which will not in some passages, translate it how we may, forcibly, and rather violently, recall to us its ancient origin, not merely by references to peculiar customs, but by the tone of scutinient that pervades them. Actions are observed to rouse the old orator's feelings, and events to interest him, which to us appear nearly indifferent, or such, at least, as would not bear to be dwelt, upon before a modern audience. Many things with the Greeks and Romans most venerable, have not merely lost thoir sanctity in our eyes, but present contemptible, and even ludicrous ideas to us : honce, any allusion to them, or any expression of the feelings connected with them, or even a reference to the habits of thinking which those feelings have produced, must have an operation most unpropitious to the project which wo are now contemplating. Yet something may be done by a sort of sympathy, where such passages are very splondid in execution, and do not occur at every step : we may work ourselves into a temporary state of feel ing, similar to that of the orator and his audience; and, at all events, their infrequent recurrence may prevent any serious interruption of tho design. But, surely, to select orations almost entirely composed of 148 ROMAN ORATORS. them, — founded altogether on the peculiarities of the classical manners, — perpetually addressed to feelings which no modern can, without an effort of recollection, a commentary, a history, and a pause, enter into, and which he must be a scholar to understand at all, — is to adopt the precaution best adapted to secure the failure of the experiment. It is equally obvious, that to take for translation a speech more interesting for the substance than the composition, — valuable rather on account of the facts detailed in it, and the light which it throws upon ancient times, than for its rhetorical excellence, — is sacrificing the object which we are sup posing to be in view, and recurring to the other, first mentioned, in its most questionable shape ; there being little chance of finding persons ignorant of the original language, especially if it be Latin, yet so much in terested in the concerns of those who spoke it, as to search after them among the remains of their oratory, instead of consulting histories and didactic treatises. These remarks apply, we much fear, with no ordi nary force, to the work before us; the production certainly of a sensible and accomplished man, and one whose opportunities appear to have been enviable of observing the remains of ancient art; a man, too, whose turn of mind, and cast of sentiment, we have every inclination to approve, from all the specimens of them that appear in his writings. Our first objection to his book is, that he has chosen the wrong orations. It cannot be doubted, that, in the conduct of the great cause against Verres, Cicero displayed the whole resources of his genius. He was in the prime of life ; he had the novelty to stimulate him of appearing for the first time as an accuser; he had, by a previous successful conflict, obtained the uncontrolled manage ment of the impeachment ; it was a child of his own care from the beginning. In collecting the materials, he had, as nearly as possible, been an eye-witness of the facts ; he had arranged the cause with a view to CICERO. 149 his own exertions ; he had an audience of all that was noble, enlightened, virtuous, or refined, from every part of Italy ; he addressed a tribunal at once popular and select ; his clients were the oppressed people of a mighty province, in importance rivalling the imperial state; but, above all, he had such a subject, so copi ous, so various, so abounding, with the very topics which an orator would fancy to give his talents their full scope, that it was scarcely a merit to handle it with eloquence. Such a wonderful combination of circumstances never yet prepared the field for the triumphs of the art; — so grand an occasion for the display of forensic power, will, in all likelihood, never again exist. It is enough to say, that the orator surpassed by his execution the singular excellence of his materials ; and, instead of being overwhelmed by their magnitude, only drew from thence the means of another perfection, in the skill and discretion of his selection. So at least all appears upon paper. But it abates somewhat of the interest which we feel in this renowned cause, to reflect that, with a trifling excep tion, it exists on paper merely; and that none of the orations against Verres were delivered but the first, which is only a short and general introduction to the subject.* Among the rest, the two which Mr. Kelsall has translated, were written only, and were published after Verres had brought the whole affair to a close, as far as judicial proceedings were concerned, by going into voluntary exile. Here, then, is our first objection to Mr. Kelsall's choice. It appears that the ancients so highly venerated the oratorical art, and were so much in the habit of regarding it as an art, and its productions as works extremely artificial, that they saw nothing absurd in what has among us become almost proverbially ridiculous, " a speech intended to have been spoken." They had not, moreover, the * The Divinatio, of course, we pass over, as not belonging properly to the case. 150 ROMAN ORATORS. other facilities of publication which the press gives us ; and, referring everything to their ordinary mode of communication, in popular meetings, they wrote and published speeches pretty much as our modern orators sometimes speak pamphlets ; and would probably have held a speech made for the sake of being published, in as great ridicule as we do one that is published with out having been delivered. Even the grand Philippic itself, the " conspicuce divina Philippica famce," * was in this predicament ; and there seems some reason to doubt whether the finest of all his orations, the pro Milone, could have been delivered more than in form, under the circumstances of tumult and disorder which marked the day. Now, to pass over other considera tions, with the knowledge of these particulars, nothing can be more grating to a modern reader, whose idea of eloquence is that of something natural, heartfelt, inartificial, and extemporaneous, than the manifest con viction of using artifice and preparation, which the orator incurs as often as we come to a passage only adapted to a speech, and still more in those instances where he had anticipated, something which was to happen while he went on, and provided himself with an extemporaneous burst for the occasion. There are few passages of any merit or distinction, which do not fall within the first part of the observation ; but we confine ourselves to the more glaring absurdity, as it strikes modern readers, of those passages that belong to the latter description. " Superiori omni oratione" (says Cicero, in the Oratio Frumentaria, alluding to one which was no more delivered than that speech itself) " perattentos vestros animos habuimus : id fuit nobis gratum admodum."y The judges appear to have continued equally attentive to the end ; for, in the Be * Volveris a prima quw proxima—a. form of expression which we do not criticise because accustomed to it as Juvenal's ; yet no modern poet durst use so lame and prosaic a mode of reckoning to fill up his metre. f Act. II., lib. 3, c. 5. CICERO. 151 Suppliciis, we find him acknowledging again, " Quasso, ut fecistis adhuc, diligenter attendite." * So in the Second Philippic, which was written with the intention of not being published for some time, and certainly never meant to be spoken at all, sitting at his Formian Villa, he complains of Antony for filling the place in which he is speaking with armed men, and alludes to the senate being held in the temple of Concord,f which draws from him a passionate ex clamation ; and he afterwards gives a lively picture of the effects of his statement upon Antony, present and suffering under it. He is first terrified when a particular topic is mentioned : " Non dissimulat Patres Conscripti ; apparet esse commotum — sudat — pallet, quidlibet, modo ne nauseet, faciat, quod in porticu Minutia, fecit." J Then after going through the topic, he mentions the effects which it had produced : " Num expectas dum te stimulis fodiam? Hsec te, si ullam partem habes sensus lacerat, hsec cruentat oratio." The Romans regarding an oration as we do a dramatic performance, in the light of a composition professedly prepared most elaborately, were probably no more offended with such marks of art, than we are in read ing the dialogue and stage directions of a play. But anything that impresses upon our minds the idea of " getting up" anything theatrical, is so far from being tolerated in a speech, that we are thus wont to charac terize it by names drawn from the stage, and never fail to feel disgusted with its introduction into the business of real fife. It appears somewhat doubtful to us whether Mr. Kelsall had obtained a very accurate knowledge of the history of the cause against Verres, when he began his Translations ! Certainly some things occur in the first of the two, which look as if he thought they had been actually dehvered. Towards the beginning of • Act. II., lib. 5, c. 17. t && II-, c 8. X Ibid, c. 34. 152 ROMAN ORATORS. the De Signis, speaking of two statues, Cicero says they were called Canephorse ; and proceeds as if he had forgotten the artist's name, and was reminded of it : " sed earum artificem, quem ? quemnam ? recte admones, Polycletum esse dicebant."* In the note to this passage (p. 116), our author observes, "Here, probably, some one reminded Cicero of the name of the sculptor ; " whereas it is only one of the artifices to which we have been alluding, and of which the same oration affords a similar example, in the passage where he affects to be reminded, by a ring of Piso's, of some thing which he had almost forgotten.!/ The translator, however, has in another place committed a similar mistake in a more serious manner. It is where Cicero, arguing upon evidence, contends vehemently, and in abrupt sentences, that he has the most irrefragable proofs of Verres having carried the statue of Mercury away, and insists that it is in vain for him to deny it. "Publicte litterse sunt," he says, "deportatum esse Mercurium Messanam sumptu publico. Dicunt quanti ; prsefuisse huic nogotio publice legatum Poleam. Quid? is ubi est? prsesto est: testis est. Proagori Sopatri jussu. Quis est hie? qui ad statuam adstrictus est. Quid? is ubi est? testis est. Vidistis hominem et verba ejus audistis."J Our author supposes Poleas and Sopater to be actually called as witnesses, and examined during this part of the speech. He trans lates it thus: "There are written documents, and I do proclaim, that the Mercury was transported to Messana. They ask for how much? I say that Poleas was commissioned to do it. Where is Poleas ? Here he is, listen to his testimony." {Here Poleas is brought to the bar, and says, "It was removed by order of Sopater the Mayor.") "Where is he who * Act. II., lib. 4, e. 3. t Ibid, lib. 4, c. 26. Quintilian mentions both these passages as examples of the same figure, IX., 2. X lb., c. 42. CICERO. 153 was strapped to the statue ? Call him in. Listen to his deposition." {Here Sopater probably gave his deposition; and having done so, left the Court.) " You have seen the man, and heard his testimony." — (P. 68.) Now the whole of this is mere imagination, founded in mistakes of the sense, and humoured by twisting and adding to the text. The orator clearly asks all these questions, and answers them himself. He had been immediately before giving the history of Sopater's ill treatment; and coming to grapple with the argument upon the proof that Verres had carried away the statue, he shows it to be complete in all its parts. The passage should run as follows; for there are almost as many faults as words in Mr. Kelsall's version :— " The despatches state that the Mercury was conveyed to Messana at the public expense; they tell us the amount ; they inform us that Poleas was publicly deputed to superintend this business. What Poleas? and where is he ? He is here, he is a witness. But Sopater the magistrate gave the orders 1 Who is he ? Why, the very man who was bound to the statue! Where is he? He too is a witness; and you have yourselves seen him, and heard his evidence!" — It argues no common inattention in our author to have fallen into this blunder ; for in the part immediately preceding, Cicero refers several times to Sopater as having already given his evidence (see c. 39 and 40) ; and professes to give his account of the treatment of Sopater from the evidence. We will venture to say, that in the whole of the unspoken speeches against Verres there is no such fiction as Mr. Kelsall's translation here imputes to Cicero, that of suffering a witness to be called, and to give a particular deposition. In fact, the only evidence introduced in the course of these orations, consists of documentary evidence, read by the officer of the court: either despatches, or accounts, or depositions taken in Sicily, or those taken in the first action — a reference to 154 ROMAN ORATORS. which last he evidently makes in the passage above. We are pretty sure, indeed, that no one can read these orations without being convinced that Cicero purposely relied on the evidence already adduced ; for though he several times affirms that he has witnesses to carry his case farther, he holds this to be quite superfluous, after the body of proof already adduced. This is clearly the course which his excellent judgment would have pointed out, even if the orations had been delivered; but how much more expedient was it to rely on that evidence alone, when he was only writing against Verres speeches never to be spoken, and without the means of going beyond the testimony already ad duced ? In another passage {note 36, p. 132), ,our author appears still to treat these orations as having been delivered ; but at the end of the notes to the De Suppliciis, that is, in the last two pages of the work, he states the fact as it really was. One is almost tempted to suspect that this important circumstance had till then escaped him. Another objection to the choice of these orations, is their length. The experiment would have been much more conveniently tried upon a smaller scale. They are in fact the two longest of all Cicero's orations. In the space occupied by one of them, he might have included four or five of the most finished orations; those too which are less encumbered with detafls, and the beauties of which consist more especially in the composition. But the radical objection to the choice of these specimens is derived from the nature of their subjects. That both of them are monuments of the transcendent genius of the master, and that their workmanship is exquisitely perfect, even in the parts least attractive to ordinary modern readers, we readily admit. But with a reference to the design of making that which shall as nearly as possible resemble an English speech, both subjects are faulty. The Romans regarded the statues CICERO. 155 and pictures of their gods, the chief object of Verres's pillage, with religious veneration ; and accordingly that pillage was viewed also as sacrilege. The vehemence of the orator, therefore, in exposing it, and the im portance attached by him to every minute particular respecting the fate of each work, cannot fail to appear excessive in our eyes. Nothing can more clearly show the difference of the feelings with which the original and the translation must be read by those to whom they are respectively addressed than the peroration of the whole cause. It consists of apostrophes or prayers to all the deities, to direct the judges in their deter mination: but the topics by which he implores them are almost entirely drawn from the injuries offered to their statues and temples by Verres. His most enormous crimes — crimes that in all ages, and in every form into which society can be moulded, must excite equal horror — scarcely afford the matter of a single adjuration. If they are alluded to, it is in passing on to the matter more personally interesting to the gods and goddesses, and therefore more awful to the feelings of the audience. So it is in various other parts of these orations; where, after working our feelings up to the highest pitch, by the finest painting of vicious excesses and their miserable effects, the whole is wound up with what to us seems a pure anticlimax, a disrespect to some " Nymph of the Grot." The De Suppliciis, which comprehends, in fact, the naval and military administration of Verres, as well as his cruelties, affords certainly a wider field, and pre sents us with new topics of permanent and universal interest. Yet there are few passages of it that do not in some particulars address themselves to feelings in which a modern reader can partake very little. The severity of Roman manners in some points, how lax soever in others, stamped a peculiar odium upon certain acts, to us merely indifferent. Other things, which we either consider as innocent, or at most 156 ROMAN ORATORS. regard as excusable levities, were proscribed as con trary to that capricious, but stern decorum, the viola tion of which shocked their feelings more than the greatest enormities. Hence, such deviations are re prehended by the orator with a gravity which to us seems ludicrous ; and even if we can get over that sensation, they are placed in such a manner upon the scale of delinquencies as to jar with our most rooted feelings. When he is making the father of Verres sum up his iniquities at the close of one noted division of the oration, the first acts enumerated are those of culpable negligence — the next of official corruption; then follows the connivance at and protection of piracy; then the judicial murder of citizens in furtherance of his collusion with the pirates ; and after these enor mities follow those of inviting matrons to a banquet, and appearing in public with a long purple robe. This last crime is frequently insisted upon, and the denunciation of it composes the chief part of that famous passage, so much praised by Quintilian for its picturesque effect in one place, and for its uncommon dignity in another : " Stetit soleatus praetor populi Romani, cum pallio purpureo, tunicaque talari, mulier- cula, nixus in litore."* No translation can be given of this, which shall have any pretensions to the climax, as well as dignity of the original; though certainly Mr. Kelsall does not lessen the difficulty by disjointing it, and throwing in his favourite "My Lords," there being, by the way, no "judices" in the original. The harshness of the Roman feelings on many subjects presents still more grating passages. There is no more vehement declamation in the whole speech than that against his sparing a pirate's life; and this not because the motive of the clemency was corrupt, but because it was intolerable that an enemy of the Roman name should be suffered to live longer than was * Act. II., lib. 6, c. 33. CICERO, 157 absolutely necessary. His chief topic is, that even the general who obtains a triumph only keeps the hostile captains, " ut, his per triumphum ductis, pulcherrimuin spectaculum, fructumque victorise populus Romanus percipere possit ;" — and then, the instant the car sets out from the forum, they are flung into prison, and put to death, — the which seems to give the orator a wonderful satisfaction.* Yet we presume no one but an Indian orator would now venture on such a topic. But this adoration of the majesty of the Roman people, is the diversity which most frequently and most violently offends the modern reader ; indeed, it runs through almost every part of the oration. Thus, after describing the corrupt intrigue by which Cleo- menes was entrusted with the fleet (for the same reason that Uriah was placed in the front of the battle), he breaks out into an ungovernable transport, and all because this Cleomenes was a Syraeusan. He asks where he is to begin upon such a shocking sub ject; and after the most passionate strain of inter rogation, and apostrophizing Verres, he exclaims, " 0 dii immortales? Quid? si harum ipsarum civitatum navibus," &c. — " Syracusanus Cleomenes jussus est imperare ? Non omnis honos, ab isto dignitatis, ssqui- tatis, officiique sublatus est?"- — and therewithal con tinues the topic in new details. The oration is, indeed, planned with a direct reference to this national feeling ; which, far from exciting our sympathy, is to the modern reader almost as intolerable as it must have been to the unhappy sufferers under it. Having gone through Verres's maladministration in all its branches — his peculation, extortion, and cruelties; having described scenes of cold-blooded murder, to which we verdy believe Rome alone could ever furnish a parallel ; after leading us through scenes, in which, among other * Act. II., lib. 5, c. 30. 158 ROMAN ORATORS. sights, we behold wretched parents dragged to the place where their children are tortured, that they may be compelled by their entreaties to purchase with their wealth the relief, that is, the death of the suf ferers, — he comes to something far surpassing all this, and which, therefore, he reserves for the last place, and makes a distinct head of. What went before, he says, he had received in trust from the Sicilians ; but he now comes to those topics " quse non recepta, sed innata, neque delata ad me, sed in animo sensuque meo penitus affixa atque insita." Such, it seems, was the Praetor's " furor, sceleris et audaciae comes ; " such the "amentia quse istius effrenatum animum importun- amque naturam oppressit," that he ordered Roman citizens to be flogged ; nay, some were put to death in prison by his sentence of condemnation. Nor does the orator inquire with what justice ; that seems to make no part of the aggravation; it is, that Verres would not listen to the famous plea of " Civis Romanus sum ; " which proved an effectual security all over the world. But is there any worse act of frenzy to be conceived ? It seems Verres has even surpassed this, by a deed reserved for the close of the speech imme diately before the peroration, but of such a nature, that when first related to Cicero, he thought he should not dare to make use of it ; and now that he has made up his mind to relate it, he knows not " qua, vi vocis, qua gravitate verborum, quo dolore animi" he shall tell it. Therefore, as no words can exaggerate it, he thinks best to state it simply, and let it speak to their hearts. It seems Verres had first flogged, and then crucified a Roman citizen. The consummate orator, indeed, breaks his word, as to telling the story simply, for he involves it in such a burst of eloquence, as we shall in vain seek to parallel, except in his own works. In the whole, not merely of these orations, but of antiquity, is there no piece which exceeds this in dignity, and at the same time in the rapid and fervid CICERO. 159 torrent of the composition. It is a storehouse from whence the finest examples of almost every kind of figure have been drawn : and yet more wonderful than the boldness and propriety of those figures is the beautiful and judicious disposition of them. Nor is there a doubt that the admirable discretion of the passage crowns the whole, and exemplifies the orator's own rule, the golden canon of the art, that whatever does not promote the main object of the oration is to be rejected as a deformity, how fair soever it be to the eye ; for, having called to our recollection what were the feelings of the Romans on such subjects, we cannot question the prodigious effect which such a passage must have had upon them if delivered. Yet with all these temptations to the task, we have no hesitation in pronouncing the translation of this great specimen impossible, were it for no other reason but because an English reader has not the feelings and associations to which almost every word of it appeals. The leading idea of the cross and crucifixion, and consequently the words that convey it, are consecrated by religious associations : the inviolable nature of a Roman citizen, his inexpressible dignity in the eyes of barbarians, can only, in modern times, be felt by white colonists in the West Indies. Whatever feelings we may have of this topic are merely reflex, the result of thinking and effort and recollection. We have been seduced into so long a disquisition on these points, that we must hurry over the other general remarks which present themselves, and only observe, that the vehemence which distinguishes the finer parts of these orations, is another reason against having selected them. Ancient eloquence, in general, deals much more in exclamation than our subdued and northern temperament can bear. We somewhat resemble those Romans who piqued themselves on a close imitation of the chaste Attic style, and carried it so far as to become cold rather than chaste, and thus 160 ROMAN ORATORS. to lose all resemblance with their models.* The best kind of oration, then, to translate, would be one of less vehement and abrupt passion than those against Verres, which have the fervour of Roman declamation in peculiar excess. We now come to the more important question, in what manner bur author has attempted a task thus infinitely difficult — what approaches he has made towards a success clearly unattainable. In order to execute well a translation undertaken with the views in question, a person must not only know Latin thoroughly, but English ; and, moreover, he must be himself an orator. This is quite essential ; as much so as it is for a translator of Latin poetry to be a poet. We much fear it will be found that Mr. Kelsall has mistaken his forte, as well as his book, and appears in the light of one who, unable to write verses, should translate a part of Virgil, and choose for his part the second Georgic. We should conclude, from any one page of his book, that he never had turned his attention to the art of oratory. To say that he has utterly failed in rendering the De Suppliciis, then, is only like telling one who handles a violin for the first time, that he does not make it " discourse music." We mean no further disrespect to Mr. Kelsall than this. His work is not a volume of English eloquence ; and if he wrote it with any other design, our criticism does not touch him. To give instances of this cardinal defect would be endless. We shall select one or two of the most noted passages, and see how he has treated them, observing that he has the peculiar bad fortune to be guilty of mistranslations in some of the most critical parts, and sometimes to commit at the same moment another mistake, still more common in these pages, the introduction of a ludicrous or undignified English expression. * Cicero, in his Brutus, rallies them pleasantly, by saying, "Let them be as Attic as they please, I expect the benches to empty as soon as they begin." CICERO. 161 The first shall be that celebrated climax and per sonification : — " Facinus est vinciri civem Komanum : Scelus verberari ; prope pameidium, necari : quid dicam in crucera tolli ? Verbo satis digno tam nefaria res appellari nullo modo potest. Non fuit his omnibus iste contentus. Spectet, inquit, patriam ; in conspectu legum libertatisque moriatur. Non tu hoc loco Gavium, jion unum hominem, nescio quem, civem Ronianum, sed comniunem libertatis et civitatis causam in ilium cruciatum et crucem egisti." Our author thus renders it :— " It is contrary to law that a Roman citizen be bound ; it is a crime to submit him to stripes ; it is almost parricide to put Mm to death : What can I say if he be crucified ? So nefarious a deed cannot be expressed in adequate language. But he was not content with the infliction of all these punishments ; ' Let him die,' he cries, ' as he beholds his native shores ; let him die in the presence of his own laws— of liberty.' It was not here that you crucified Gavius, nor any Roman citizen ; you uailed to the cross the common cause of Liberty and of the Republic." Now, here is both omission and redundancy. The words in italics in the Latin are left out in the transla tion, while for the words similarly printed in the latter, there is no authority in the former. The meaning is misconceived in other parts. Civitatis is evidently here the right of citizenship in the abstract; legum, libertatisque, are not his own: and "It was not here," &c, is equally wrong ; the original is, " It was not Gavius," &c. But though this is by no means one of Mr. K.'s worst passages, our objection to it is general. Perhaps the following comes somewhat nearer a mark, necessarily removed to an unapproach able distance : — " It is criminal to bind a Roman citizen — it is a wickedness to scourge him — to put him to death is all but parricide — What shall we say if he be crucified? Language has no name for so flagrant an enormity. Yet did not all this satisfy that man. ' Let him be placed in view of his country,' he cries ; ' let his dying looks be turned towards liberty and the laws !' It was not M 162 ROMAN ORATORS. Gavius ; it was not an obscure individual ; it was not a single Roman citizen ; but the common cause of freedom, and of all the citizens of Rome, that you there crucified and tortured." The next shall be a passage of singularly beautiful diction in the original : — " Homines tenues, obscuro loco nati, navigant : adeunt ad ea loca quae nunquam antea viderunt ; ubi neque noti esse iis quo venerunt, neque semper cum cognitoribus esse possunt. Hac una, tamen fiducia civitatis non modo apud nostros magistrates qui et legum et existimationis periculo continentur, neque apud cives solum Romanos qui et sermonis, et juris, et multarum rerum societate juncti sunt, fore se tutos arbitrantur; sed quocunque venerint, hanc sibi rem prassidio sperant futuram." Our author translates it thus : — " Men of small property, born in an obscure place, traverse the seas, and touch at places which they never before saw, who are neither able to make it known whence they came, nor can they be always recognized : they are nevertheless thinking themselves secure by confiding in the protection of the name of Rome ; — not merely from our magistrates, who are obligated by law and other risks of losing reputation — not merely from Roman citizens, who are connected with them by language, laws, commerce ; — but wherever they go, they believe that this name alone will afford them protection." First, as to the Latin : Obscuro loco nati is not " born in an obscure place," but men in an humble condition. Quo is whither, not whence. Cognitores means vouchers, or sureties, not persons who recognize. The following is our author's translation of the fine passage where he closes the account of the murders committed in the hope of suppressing evidence : — " Who was so callous, so inexorable, but you alone ; as not to be affected at their misery, age, and condition ? Was there any one who could refrain from tears? Who did not think that the calamity came home to them, and that the fortune of all was endangered? They are decapitated. You exult and triumph in their groans , you rejoice that the witnesses of your avarice are out of the way. You was mistaken, Verres, you was vehemently mistaken, if you imagined that the spots of your depredations and iniquities could be washed out by the . CICERO. 163 blood of our innocent friends. You was hurried headlong by frenzy, in thinking that the wounds occasioned by your avarice could be healed by your cruel proscriptions." The spirit of the original is here flattened in every line ; thus " avaritioz vulnera crudelitatis remediis sanare" is an epigram wholly lost by the translator. " Omnium gemitu" certainly refers to the bystanders, not the victims. Decapitate is a very bad phrase. Durus and ferreus are ill rendered by callous; and inhumanus by inexorable. Illo tempore is omitted. The passage may be better given thus : — " Who was there at that moment, of so hard, so iron a nature — -what creature except yourself alone so inhuman, as not to be touched with the venerable age, the illustrious rank, the cruel sufferings, of those wretched men? Who could refrain from weeping, or fail to see in their fate a kindred destiny and a common danger ? They are beheaded. You exult, you triumph in the midst of the groans which everywhere arise ; you rejoice in having got rid of the witnesses to your extortions. You deceived yourself, Verres, you egregiously deceived your self, if you hoped to wash out the stains of your rapine and profligacy with the blood of our unoffending allies ! Headlong in frenzy must you have been borne, to fancy that cruelty could heal over the wounds which avarice had inflicted ! " The last instance shall be from that beautiful pas sage where he describes the steep and difficult path by which he is forced to rise in the state, and con trasts it with the hereditary eminence of his supposed audience; complaining, too, of the cold and unkind treatment which men of his rank were accustomed to experience from the aristocracy. It is difficult to read this passage without being reminded of Mr. Burke's celebrated letter, in which he says, " I was not swad dled and rocked and dandled into a legislator : Nitor in adversum, is the motto for a man like me."* The * Worhs. 8vo edition. Vol. viii., 28. See, too, a striking remark in one of the volumes just published, respecting the constant suspicions of having some interest in view, to which his zeal exposed him. — IX,, 155. 164 ROMAN ORATORS. whole is worthy of being compared .with the original Latin. Mr. K.'s translation is not like either. , " Some one, perchance, will ask, Will you then undergo this labour? Will you brave the enmities of so many individuals ? Certainly I do not court their hatred. But I am not to act as those noblemen who receive with indifference the benefits heaped upon them by the Roman people. I must run a very different course in this commonwealth. " We have lately witnessed L. Fimbria, C. Marius, and C. Ccelius, contending, with no moderate share of exertion and enmity, to arrive at those honours which you have attained by trivial occupations and neglect. This is the path I intend to tread ; theBe are the examples I purpose to follow. We see how much the virtue and industry of heads of families is obnoxious to the envy and hatred of certain nobles. If we cast our eyes ever so little askance, snares are immediately at hand : If we disclose any grounds for the suspicion of guilt, wounds must be received. We see we must be ever on our guard, ever on the alert. Are these then enmities ? let them be braved. Are these then labours? let them be undergone. Indeed, occult and secret hatreds are more to be dreaded than declared and manifest. Scarcely do any nobles look upon our exertions with a favourable eye. It is impossible, with all our endeavours, to attract their good- will. As if disjoined by nature and species, so are they abhorrent of us in will and disposition." The whole meaning of the original is here lost. The lines in Italics are a perversion of the sense. The Latin is, "Non idem mihi licet quod iis qui nobili generi nati sunt, quibus omnia populi Romani bene- ficia dormientibus deferuntur : longe alia mihi lege in hac civitate et conditione vivendum est." To call novi homines, heads of families, is absurd ; he must mean founders of families. " Suspicioni aut crimini" is suspicion or charge, not " suspicion of guilt." Although we certainly do not accuse the author of ignorance of Latin, yet his carelessness does most frequently subject him to suspicions of this sort. Thus, in p. 248, he renders " comm,emoratio mei nominis," " the remembrance of my name," in the supposed address of Verres's father; whereas it is plainly the " mention" of it by the unhappy wretches whom he CICERO. 165 was torturing. In p. 214, " vir accumberet nemo prseter ipsum et prsetextatum filium" is rendered, apparently in order to introduce a bull, as well as a false translation, " no man but himself and his son, a mere youth, had access to him," instead of " no man sat down to table." In p. 210, "pcene damnatus" is turned into " even in the jaws of damnation," by a still more absurd blunder ; and in p. 226, " importuni tyranni" is rendered by " an importunate" tyrant, instead of " restless." fie is not by any means care ful in the readings of the original which he adopts, and frequently throws away the most accredited emen dations of the Ernesti edition, which he yet seems generally to use. In p. 215, he retains the enumera tion of mules, tents, and corn, among the classes of persons, as quaestors, lieutenants, &c, whom the orator is proposing as fitter than Cleomenes to command a fleet.— 7?d. Ed. Em., ad Act. II., lib. 5, c. 32. And in p. 234, he keeps the unmeaning words rejected by the same excellent commentator, " et recte nihil vide- tur," that he may translate them " in troth they can not."— Vid. Ern.,ib., c. 34. After all, however, it is with his English that we find most fault. Perhaps the very title-page, and certainly the dedication, give but a slender hope of seeing justice done to Cicero. Why should our Eng lish ideas be confounded with the name of pleadings, when orations was at hand — and, as if to make it worse, printed in black letter ? The dedication of nine lines, to Sir S. Romilly, contains two, if not three errors in language. He addresses that eminent person as the enemy of " Verrine proceedings," and of all sinister practices, whether " behind the shop-board or the Exchequer" — probably meaning the counter; shop-board is the seat appropriated to tailors. But these are trifles. Of the language of the translation itself we have given specimens, and those among the best in the book. Every delicate passage is sure to 166 ROMAN ORATORS. be interrupted with something that grates and jars. Are the names of liberty, &c, to be addressed ? — it is " 0 the dear name of liberty ! 0 the excellent laws of our republic ! 0 the Porcian, &c. 0 the power of the Tribunes," (p. 263) ; much as Hostess Quickly says, " 0 the father !" If any exclamation is made on the torments of the prisoners, it is, " 0 their unhappy destiny! 0 their insupportable agonies!" — p. 236. Then, in the 2d page, Verres is already " that fellow" — " Sed mehercule, judices" is " But, in troth, my lords," p. 271 ; — and " delecto consilio" is " this honourable court." — Ibid. Modern phrases are most injudiciously used. Thus, verdict passim, and four times in one page, p. 175; lectica is always a lettiga; and we have speronaras passim ; feluccas, p. 208 ; cash, p. 201 ; ridicule, p. 180 (reticulum) ; bondon, p. 187. These things are not trifling in a work of mere com position. We repeat once more, that if Mr. Kelsall had any other plan in view, our remarks are at an end. After contemplating the rich remains of ancient eloquence, through which this work has carried us, we are not unnaturally led from reflecting on the kind of feelings which it addressed, and the effects it produced, to consider its mere external qualities or accompaniments. We do not mean to enter upon the vexata qucestio of the tones and delivery, whether the orators were not, in the finer passages at least, in the habit of using somewhat of recitativo intonation. Certain it is, that some of the musical effects ascribed to the rhythm of those passages seem scarcely intel ligible, if we imagine the same manner of speaking to have been used then as among us, and that a pitch- pipe was sometimes used as an accompaniment in their assemblies (which, however, A. Gellius treats as a vul gar error*) ; while, on the other hand, we know that * Noct Att. I., c. 11. Cicero's own account of the matter applies also rather to the notion of a pitch-pipe, De Orat. iii., c. 60. Indeed, the idea derided by A. Gellius was not strictly what we call an accompani ment, but rather a continued modulation. CICERO. 167 their delivery could not have been much slower than ours, by the time said to have been consumed by several of the orations still preserved. But we will say a word or two upon the mode of pronunciation ; and without meaning at all to infer from thence that any change would now be advisable, we cannot help thinking it quite clear, that the foreign, and to a certain degree the Scottish — perhaps most of all the modern Italian manner of pronouncing — approaches much nearer the Roman than that which is peculiar to England. For this position, various general reasons may be given. The very circumstance of the English mode being peculiar, is a strong one. It is improbable that all other traditions should be wrong and this right. The place, moreover, where we might most reasonably expect a correct tradition is Italy. Again, in the chief peculiarity of the English method, the sound of the letter /, a third reason occurs : the English make it a diphthong. Now, that any one vowel should be either long or short is intelligible ; but that a diphthong should be sometimes short, appears quite anomalous. — But there seems to be more precise and conclusive proof still, in the writings of the ancient critics. J£ we examine the directions given by Quintilian respecting the hiatus, and the remarks on the force of the vowels, on which his rules are founded, we shall find that they accord more nearly with the Italian than any other mode of pronouncing them, and are most of all inconsistent with, the English. * Thus, " E plenior littera est, I angustior ;" but he adds what is decisive, that these two vowels coming together at the end and beginning of two consecutive words, make no great hiatus from the nature of their sounds ; that they easily run into each other — a remark wholly inapplicable to the sound of E, I, in English, when * Lib. ix., c. 4. 168 ROMAN ORATORS. they thus follow, as omne idem. Thus, too, the use of the ecthlipsis by Cato, who used " to soften m into e in diem hanc." If the e were sounded as in English, there would be the most complete hiatus here ; it would scarcely be possible to sound the two words without the m; and still more, if both the i and e were so pronounced : but pronounce the i and e as in Italian, or the former as the English do e in ego, and the latter as they do a in amo,* and the ecthlipsis melts the vowels into each other completely. So Quintilian tells us, that the final m is scarcely sounded in " multum ille" and "quantum erat;" being used only as the mark of a pause between the two vowels " ne coeant." Were those vowels, or were the u only, sounded as in England, there would be no fear of them running into each other, nor would there be a possi bility of pronouncing the u, and dwelling upon it, with out the m — so where the m is cut out after u, and before a consonant, as serenum fait. ' The soft sound of s, as in ars, and its differing from the sound of the same letter at the beginning of a word, is equally inconsistent with what Quintilian says of the rixatio of similar consonants, x following s he says is bad — but " tristior etiam (rixatio) si binse collidantur stridor est, ut ars studiorum." Similar inferences may be drawn from other sources, particularly several parts of the Orator, as c. 48, .with respect to the gut tural in ch.-\ See, too, A. Gellius, VII., c. 20 ; XIX., c. 14.$ With respect to the letter I, we ought to mention that some authors have held that it had one sound among the ancients similar to its English pronuncia- * We mean the Eaton, not the "Winchester mode. f It is not quite clear whether it is the guttural or only the aspirate that is ridiculed in the well-known epigram of Catullus, " Chommoda dice- bat," &c., but probably the aspirate — a charge frequently made against the modem Tuscans. | The latter passage, and others which might be cited, show that the pronunciation was different, in some letters, from all modern usage. CICERO. 169 tion ; and J, Lipsius says, * that he understands this sound only to be preserved in Britain. The ground of the opinion is, that a long i" is sometimes found in ancient monuments written for EI; and that in old books ei is used where later ones have i. But the examples which he gives, and especially the first from Cicero, are equally applicable to the two modes of pro nouncing both the letters. We must, however, repeat that we draw no inference, practically, against the English method, nor in favour of a narrow-minded adherence in this country to the old Scottish one ; on the contrary, the assimilation of our mode of pro nouncing is highly expedient, indeed necessary, as a matter of convenience ; and we believe there are few persons of the present day so bigoted in admiration of antiquity as to feel with Milton, that " to read Latin with an English mouth, is as ill a hearing as law French." * De Recta Pronunciations Latinos Linguae, cap. 8. GREEK ORATORS. DEMOSTHENES* In our former article upon the two first volumes of this work,f we promised to resume our remarks upon the merits of the French translation, and to lay before the reader some specimens of an English version. But before we proceed to this conclusion of the discussion into which the appearance of Mr. Planche's book has led us, we must be permitted to dwell yet a little upon a topic, in itself truly inexhaustible, — the pro digious merit of the immortal original. And we pursue this course the rather in these times, when a corrupt or a careless eloquence so greatly abounds, that there are but few public speakers who give any attention to their art, excepting those who debase it by the ornaments of a most vicious taste. Not, indeed, that the two defects are often kept apart; for some men appear to bestow but little pains upon the pre paration of the vilest composition that ever offended a classical ear, although it displays an endless variety of far-fetched thoughts, forced metaphors, unnatural expressions, and violent perversions of ordinary lan guage ; — in a word, it is worthless, without the poor * (Euvres Completes de Demosthene et d'Eschine, en Grec et en Francois. Traduction de L'Abbe Auger de l'Acade'mie des Inscriptions et Belles- Lettres de Paris. Nouvelle eaition, revue et corrigee par J. Planche, Professeur de Rhetorique au College Royal de Bourbon. Tomes iii., iv., v., vi., et vii. Paris, Verdiere. 1820. f This was an able and learned article of Mr. Justice Williams on the same edition of Demosthenes. — Edinburgh Review, January, 1820. DEMOSTHENES. 171 merit of being elaborate ; and affords a new instance how wide a departure may be made from nature with very little care, and how apt easy writing is to prove hard reading. Among the sources of this corruption may clearly be distinguished as the most fruitful, the habit of ex tempore speaking, acquired rapidly by persons who frequent popular assemblies, and, beginning at the wrong end, attempt to speak before they have studied the art of oratory, or even duly stored their minds with the treasures of thought and of language, which can only be drawn from assiduous intercourse with the ancient and modern classics. The truth is, that a certain proficiency in public speaking may be attained with nearly infallible certainty by any person who chooses to give himself the trouble of frequently try ing it, and can harden himself against the pain of frequent failures. Complete self-possession and perfect fluency are thus acquired, almost mechanically, and with little or no reference to the talents of him who be comes possessed of them. If he is a man of no capacity, his speeches will of course be very bad ; but, though he be a man of genius, they will not be eloquent. A sensible remark, or a fine image, may frequently occur; but the loose and slovenly and poor diction, the want of art in combining and disposing his ideas, the inability to bring out many of his thoughts, and the utter incompetency to present any of them in the best and most efficient form, will deprive such a speaker of all claims to the character of an orator, and reduce him to the level of an ordinary talker. The same man, had he never spoken in public, would have possessed the same powers of convincing or ex pounding, provided he were only called upon to exert them in conversation with one or two persons. Per haps the habit of speaking may have taught him something of arrangement, and a few of the simplest methods of producing an impression ; but beyond 172 GREEK ORATORS. these first steps he cannot possibly proceed by this empirical process ; and his diction is sure to be much worse than if he had never made the attempt, — clumsy, redundant, incorrect, unlimited in quantity, but of no value. Such a speaker is never in want of a word, and hardly ever has one that is worth having. " Sine Mc quidem conscientia" (says Quintilian, speak ing of the habit of written composition) " ilia ipsa extempore dicendi facultas, inanem modo loquaci- tatem dabit, et verba in labris nascentia." — (X., iii.) It is a very common error to call this natural elo quence; it is the reverse. It is neither natural nor eloquent. A person under the influence of strong passions or feelings, and pouring forth all that fills his mind, produces a powerful effect on his hearers, and frequently attains, without any art, the highest beauties of rhetoric. The language of the passions flows easily ; but it is concise and simple, and the oppo site of that wordiness which we have been describing. The untaught speaker, who is also unpractised, and utters according to the dictates of his feelings, now and then succeeds perfectly; but, in those instances, he would not be the less successful for having studied the art ; while that study would enable him to succeed equally in all that he delivers, and give him the same control over the feelings of others, whatever might be the state of his own. Herein, indeed, consists the value of the study; it enables a man to do at all times what Nature only teaches upon rare occasions. Now, we cannot imagine any better corrective to the faults of which we are complaining in the elo quence of modern times, than the habitual contempla tion of those exquisite models which the ancients have left us; and especially the more chaste beauties of Greek composition. Its perfect success, both in mov ing the audience to whom it was addressed, and the readers in all ages who studied it, cannot be denied; its superiority to all that has ever been produced in DEMOSTHENES. 173- other countries is confessed. There may be some use, therefore, in observing how certainly it was the result of intense labour — labour previously bestowed to ac quire the power, and the utmost care used in almost every exercise of that power. Without somewhat both of this discipline, and this sedulous attention, it would be as vain to think of emulating those divine originals, by dint of a habit of fluent speech attained through much careless practice, as to attempt painting like Raphael without having learned to draw, and by the help of some mechanical contrivance. The extreme pains which the most illustrious of the Greeks bestowed upon their compositions, are evinced by all the accounts transmitted to us of the course of education deemed requisite to form an orator, and by the well-known anecdotes of the steps by which both Demosthenes, and, after his example, Cicero, and some of his contemporaries trained themselves to rhetorical habits. But the ancient writers have left us some still more striking illustrations of this matter. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, speaking of the exquisite finish given by Isocrates and Plato to their style, compares their works rather to pieces of fine chasing or sculpture than of writing — ov ypairrolg dXXa yXviTTOig Kai ropivroig toiKorag Xoyovg. — {De Struct. Orat, sect. 25). Per haps the minuter workmanship of chasing, the sort of gem-engraving which this seems to imply, may be thought more descriptive of the elaborate compositions of Isocrates, who was said to have employed more years in writing the panegyric on the Persian War alone, than Alexander took to conquer all Asia. Let it, however, be remembered, that this excessive labour, though allowed to have unfitted him for the forensic war — (" palestrae quam pugnse magis accommodatus") — was never deemed incompatible with the highest excellence in oratory, at least with the cultivation of all its graces. " Omnes dicendi veneres sectatus est," says Quintilian (X., i., 3) ; and Cicero desires that those 174 GREEK ORATORS. who undervalued this great master of composition, would allow him to indulge in the bad taste of admir ing him, which he had caught from Socrates and Plato — " Me autem, qui Isocratem non diligunt, una. cum Socrate et cum Platone errare patiantur." — {Orat. xiii.) But at least no one can doubt that Plato's qualities are of the noblest description; no one can charge with littleness — with miniature' beauties — with sacrificing force and dignity to polish — him of whose diction it was said, ' that the Father of the Gods, had he spoken in Greek, would have used no other lan guage than Plato's. Now this language, though compared by one great critic* to the inspirations of poetry, and by another f to those of the Delphic oracle, was by no means poured forth with the readiness which the admirers of modern fluency term Nature, and in which they think a true genius for eloquence consists, although it is only a habit acquired by a mechanical process. Plato " non hominis ingenio, sed quodam Delphico oraculo instructus" — excelling all men " eloquendi facultate divina, quadam et Hom- erica" — did not at all pour out his mighty flood like our modern Improvisatori ; for he continued (says the Grecian critic above cited) to his eightieth year, correcting and new-moulding the language of his Dialogues ; and after his decease a note-book was found, in which he had written the first words of the celebrated treatise De Repub. several times over, in different arrangements. The words are, Kors/Dnv %0£C *'C Hetpata, pera FXavtcwvog tov Apianovog. " I went down yesterday to the Piraeus, with Glaucon, the son of Ariston {De Struc. Orat, sect. 25) ; and others relate the anecdote as if the changes were all made in the position of the four first words. But let us come to Demosthenes himself. His ex treme care in composing his orations is as well known * Cicero, Orat. f Quint. X., 1. 4 DEMOSTHENES. 175 as the sedulous discipline which he underwent to learn the art; and, notwithstanding the facility which he must have acquired, both by this preparation and by long and constant practice, he was averse, in an extra ordinary degree, to extempore speaking. Plutarch relates this of him; and, notwithstanding the great excellence which is ascribed to his unpremeditated harangues in the same passage, there may be some suspicion that his reluctance to " trust his success to Fortune," affected his execution upon certain occasions, — perhaps in the memorable debate with Philip, of which the orator's illustrious rival has left us so lively and so cutting a description. His anxiety in preparing may, however, be further estimated by the circum stance of his having left a collection of exordia, or introductions, almost resembling that " volumen prooz- miorum," which we know Cicero to have kept ready by him, from the pleasant mistake that he committed in sending one to Atticus as the beginning of his treatise De Gloria, when he had before used it for the Third Book of the Academic Questions. * It may justly be conceived that Demosthenes was not likely to have a book of Introductions, so unconnected with any particular subject as to be applicable to any speech. This rather befitted Sallust, or Cicero him self, than the close reasoning, business-like Athenian. Yet in whatever way we account for it, and though we suppose that most of the Exordia in question were written in the prospect of making some particular speech, when time was wanting to compose the whole, the fact of fifty-six of these pieces remaining, only two or three of which exist in their connexion with any of his known orations, seems to prove, incontest- ably, the laborious nature of the process by which he reached and kept his vast pre-eminence in eloquence. • He tells him, as soon as he discovers the mistake, to cancel the ex ordium, and prefix another, which he sends, taken from the same collec tion. — Ep. ad Alt, xvi., 6. 176 GREEK ORATORS. But his immortal works themselves afford, by inter nal evidence, the most satisfactory proofs of this posi tion ; and we may obtain a singularly instructive view of the workmanship of those exquisite pieces, by examining its progress, where we are accidentally enabled to trace it through the different stages of the process. The means of doing this are afforded by those repetitions which occur in several of the most celebrated orations. The instance in which this is to be found to the largest extent, is in the Fourth Philippic. Commentators and critics, who have never very nicely traced this subject, aware generally of the existence of these repetitions, have denominated that philippic the peroration of the whole nine speeches against Philip ; and thus conceived that they accounted for so many passages being found in it which had occurred in the others. But in truth the oration is almost entirely a repetition, and chiefly from one of the preceding, that most magnificent of all the minor works, the oration upon the affairs of the Chersonese, sometimes called the Eighth Philippic. Now, if there were only whole passages of great length found in two orations without the least variation, we might perhaps fairly conclude that the transcribers had by mistake copied them; and if nearly the whole of any one oration were an exact repetition of portions of some other we might suspect that oration to be spurious. But here there are so many variations and additions as plainly show that the orator sometimes improved upon the first thought, and sometimes adapted it to the new occasion : and we can frequently perceive the means by which the adaptation is effected. The repe tition, however, of many whole sentences, and of many clauses of sentences, without a single alteration, clearly proves the pains which he had bestowed upon the composition of each part, and the value which he set upon the result. It demonstrates beyond a doubt that the choice and the disposition of the words, even in DEMOSTHENES. 177 passages apparently of inferior importance, had been a work of mature deliberation, and of some difficulty ; for his retaining the selfsame words in the same order, when he wishes a second time to express the same ideas, shows that he regarded the first selection and arrangement as preferable to any other. Nothing can be more calculated to convince us that he deemed all the portions of his speech important; that all were elaborated with extreme art ; and that no part of his composition was carelessly prepared and flung in as a kind of cement to fill up the interstices between splen did passages. We see those finer parts themselves repeated sometimes with variations, and sometimes in the same terms, exactly like the periods of a more ordinary description. On the other hand, nothing can be more instructive than an attentive consideration of the alterations, especially where they are made as additions or improvements, and not merely with the view of adapting an old sentence to some new purpose, but because the orator saw that he might increase its beauty, its aptness, or its force, by some happy turn or new thought, which had suggested itself since the first composition. We are thus let into the history of the composition almost as if his rough draft had been preserved ; and can trace the progress of the work, not perhaps from the first execution to the most finished state, as in the manuscripts of Pope's verses which Dr. Johnson has cited, but from a state with which the great orator had, after much labour, rested satisfied, and which all ages would have deemed per fect had he gone no farther, to that still more exquisite pitch of beauty, in the existence of which only Demos thenes could have made us believe. We shall begin with the highly-wrought description of Philip's implacable enmity to Athens, of his policy in overrunning Thrace, and of the reasons why he hates Athens. This passage is to be found both in the Oration upon the Chersonese, and the Fourth N 178 GREEK ORATORS. Philippic ; but adapted to the circumstances in which the latter was delivered, and somewhat more highly finished. He begins by saying, in the very same words, that they must first of all dismiss every doubt from their minds of Philip having broken the peace, and waged war against them. In the Chersonese,* when stating this, he calls upon them to give over their mutual wranglings and recriminations ; which is omitted in the Fourth Philippic.!; He then goes on in the same words in both : " Kai icaicovovg piv ian, Kai ExOpog bXy rr) 7ToAei, Kai rw Trig iroXtwg tSatjiu." — " He is the deadly enemy J of the whole city, of the very ground on which it stands." And then he bursts forth, " 7rpoo-0no-&j Se;" but in the two orations, the addition is perfectly different. In the Chersonese — " he is the enemy of every creature within the city, and of those, too, who most flatter themselves that they enjoy his smiles. Do, they doubt it? Let them look at the fate of those Olynthians, Lasthenes and Euthycrates, who were to all appearance his most familiar favourites, and no sooner betrayed their country into his hands than they perished by the most miserable of deaths." In the Fourth Philippic, after the words 7rpoo-0no-&> Se, he adds, not that Philip is the implacable enemy of the men, but of the gods of the city, and invokes their vengeance upon his head — " roic ev Tt\ ttoXu Osotg, biirsp avrov e£o\e- o-Etav!" — "He is the enemy of the gods themselves who guard us ; § may they utterly destroy him ! " The reason of the change is here sufficiently apparent. Possibly he might think the allusion to the Olynthians not so appropriate, when, another year having elapsed, * Eeiske, Or. Grate, i., 99. -J- Id., i , 134. X Literally, "he is ill-disposed, and the enemy." § The repetition of the word roXu, in the Greek, has a force which the literal translation would not give, for want of the associations connected with it. The city was everything; and it had all the importance of country, with greater individuality. DEMOSTHENES. 179 the fact could not be so fresh in the hearers' recol lection; but this is by no means so probable a sup position as that he highly valued the appeal to the gods, or perhaps that it was a burst of passion at the moment of speaking. After this it was impossible, without sinking, to introduce the passage respecting the inhabitants of the city; and it would have been almost as difficult to introduce the whole passage, including the parenthesis respecting Olynthus, before the imprecation, for that would have destroyed the connexion between the substantive and the governing epithet. He then employs the same words in both orations to state, that the government at Athens is the chief object of his hatred ; and justly. In the Philip- pie he gives two reasons for this ; both that Philip feels the opposite interests and mutual injuries which make them necessarily enemies, and that he knows Athens must be always the refuge of the states which he wishes to subdue, and must always resist him her self while her democratic government endures. Both these reasons are repetitions, almost in the same words, from former orations; the one is taken from the Second Philippic, delivered many years before, and the other from the Chersonese. The only material change in the composition of the former is the transposition, in the fourth, of the words ficfiaitog and aatpaXiog, apparently to correct the bad effect of the same vowels coming together, as they did in the Second Philippic, wavra ra aXXa aatpaXwg kek- ¦nj-ai : the expression which seems finally to have satisfied his exquisite ear, is airavra raAAa fitfiaiwg KtKrrtrai. Perhaps he also preferred for the rounding of the period, ev MaicsSovta to oikoi. The sense seems to be the same in each case, as it also is in the substi tution of iiysirai for vopiZei, which he makes in the fourth, notwithstanding the same word ended the clause but one before. The sentence taken from the Second is tacked, as it were, to the one taken from the Cher- 180 GREEK ORATORS. sonese, by the insertion of a few words, 7rooc Se toutoic roo-ouroic ovmv. The few changes which the orator has made in the composition of the passage taken from the Chersonese, are remarkable — as the process of improving plainly appears in them, both with respect to the sense and sound — tare yap vptig ouk auroi 7rA£OVEKrno-at Kai Karaor^Eiv ap^ijv eu tte^ukotec, aAA' krtpov Xafiuv KoXvaai, Kai EY/>vr' afeXtaQai Stivot (in the Fourth Philippic, icat tov £\ovt afeXsaOai) Kai bXwg Evo^Arjrrai rote apXE£V fiovXopevoig, Kai Travrag avOptoTTovg ug tXtvQepiav i^atytXiadai iroipoi (in the Fourth Philippic, E^Aso-flat Sstvot). He evidently con sidered Suvoi as the more powerful word fitter to close the period, and avoided repeating it ; he also preferred sZiXtvOai to a compound of the afaXiadai, which he had used before ; and beside the advantage of con cluding with Sejvo!, the hiatus occasioned by the ai and e following was avoided. Perhaps we may conclude from hence (and we shall have other instances hereafter) that sometimes when he repeats the same word, or words of the same root, within a very short space, it is rather because he had not given the last polish to those parts, than because he deliberately approves such repetitions ; as in the same passage of the Chersonese, a little farther on, after using KaracrKtvaZerai twice in one period, where the repetition is a figure, and evidently intended for increasing the force of the expression, he repeats it with another word, where it seems superfluous ; and in the beautiful description of private and public life, in the peroration of the Fourth Philippic, anpaypova is used twice. But in many instances the repetition is intensive, both where the whole word is repeated, and where the root only is taken ; as in the Chersonese, raig Karriyopiatg ag AioirsiOovg Kariiyopovcri : in the- oration against Aristocrates, where he speaks of per sons Kiv&wovg KivSwevaavrag ; and in the oration for Ctesiphon and others, where he talks of persons 7toAe- DEMOSTHENES. 181 povg voXepovvTag. In other instances (and these form the great majority of the cases where he may be supposed to have repeated intentionally, though with out any argument or figure, the fittest word having been selected at first, and the idea recurring), he seems to think any sacrifice, however slight, of the sense to the sound, beneath his dignity, and does not condescend to go out of his way in order to vary the phrase. In the next part of the passages which we are com paring, two curious instances occur of the orator using the sentences originally made for one purpose, in such a manner as to adapt them to a different state of things. The argument in the Chersonese is, that Diopeithes must be supported in his predatory attack upon Thrace, both because it was justified by Philip's intrigues in the Chersonese, and his open assistance to the Cardians ; and because whatever thwarted his policy furthered that of Athens. " All his operations" (says the orator), " and all his enterprises, are enter prises against this country ; and wheresoever any one attacks him, he attacks him in our defence." In the Fourth Philippic this last member of the sentence is omitted, because it evidently, though stating a general proposition, referred peculiarly to the movements of Diopeithes, which were no longer in discussion. Again, when the Chersonese oration was delivered, Philip had not as yet taken many of the towns in Upper Thrace ; and Demosthenes, in speaking of his campaign there, asks if any one is so weak as to imagine that he would encounter the toil and the dangers of that winter campaign for the sake of such miserable places as Drongylum, Cabyle, Mastira — Kai a. vvv e^aipsi Kat KaTauKevaZerat. When the Fourth Philippic was de livered, he was supposed to be in possession of nearly all Thrace ; therefore the above expression is altered to Kat a vvv pov(i)v AOiivauov Kai roXpiLv nrtcTToXag TtipTTiiv Toiavrag biag jjKOucrarE ptKpu) irpo- TEpOlA* The Perorations of the Greek orators are not re markable for strength, if we regard only the very last sentences of all ; because it seems to have been a rule enjoined by the severe taste of those times, that, after being wrought up to a great pitch of emotion, the speaker should, in quitting his audience, leave an impression of dignity, which cannot be maintained without composure. The same chastened sense of beauty which forbade a statue to speak the language of the passions, required that both the whole oration, and each highly impassioned portion of it, should close with a calmness approaching to indifference, and tame- ness. iEschines, in the speech against Ctesiphon, would have furnished a remarkable exception to this rule, had he finished with that truly magnificent pas sage in which he calls up the illustrious dead of Athens, and plants them round himself, and bids his hearers listen to the groans that the crowning of the man who had conspired with barbarians, draws from the tombs of those who fell at Marathon and Platsese. So fine a peroration is perhaps not in any language to be found ; it probably suggested to his great rival the celebrated oath which has long stood, by universal consent, first among the remarkable passages of perfect eloquence. But iEschines was obliged to compose himself after this burst; and he added the two sentences, one of * Reiske, Orat. Grcec, i., 157. DEMOSTHENES. 185 which has ever been deemed both extravagant and absurd, and was indeed attacked as such by Demos thenes — the invocation to a series of natural objects and abstract qualities; and the other becomes still more feeble than it naturally would have been, by immediately following that lofty but clumsy flight. The result is a total failure — one of the most remark able in the history of rhetoric — an attempt which is violent and overstrained, rather than vehement, yet heavy withal and cold, bearing the character of the worst declamation, and succeeded by a mean common place, without any felicity whatever, either of concep tion or execution. This failure — this sudden reverse of fortune — this total defeat in the very moment of the most prodigious success — a transition from one of the grandest triumphs of the art of oratory to nearly the most signal discomfiture upon record— must be ascribed entirely to a compliance with that harsh rule which we have cited as regulating the Greek peroration, and which the judgment of all succeeding ages, both of ancient* and modern times, has repealed. But we find remarkable exceptions to this rule in the orations of Demosthenes himself, — not, indeed, that he ever breaks off abruptly in the midst of an impassioned period, but that one or two of his finest orations are closed with passages of great force, and most careful * Some few of Cicero's perorations appear to be formed upon the Grecian model. We allude not to such orations as those Pro Ligario and Pro Archid, where the conclusion only preserves the subdued tone of the whole composition, and is as highly wrought as most parts of the speech, and with ornaments of the same kind. But the deep pathos of the ante penultimate period in the Pro Milone is somewhat in contrast with the two last sentences ; although, no doubt, there was a great object in view, the application perhaps of all that had gone before, by a solemn call upon the judges to do a certain thing. The sentence with which the Second Philippic closes, furnishes a more near approach to tlie tameness of the Attic peroration, or rather ultimate conclusion. But many of his finest orations break off in bursts of the highest eloquence — as the first Cata- linarian ; the exquisite orations for Flaccus and Cluentius ; and that Pro Domo Sua, which he himself prized so highly, and which he tells us he laboured so carefully. — Ep. ad Alt, iv., 2. 186 GREEK ORATORS. composition, instead of ending in tho very plain, seem ingly negligent, perhaps purposely, or even affectedly, negligent manner, observable in most of the others. We allude to no less than the grand oration of all, that for Ctesiphon, the concluding prayer of which is, if not vehement, yet singularly animated, and in the ideas as well as the rhythm most beautiful ; and to tho power ful declamation in which the oration upon the Embassy closes. Among the lesser works, the oration for the Rhodians affords an instance of a highly-finished con clusion ; at least, if it is not so grand as those two just referred to, we have evidence of its being well con sidered ; for the most striking part of it is a repetition of a sentence in the oration De Republicd Ordinandd; that sentence being almost the only part of the pas sage which is not repeated from the Third Olynthiac. "And" (says the orator) "when you delight in listen ing to the praises of your forefathers, and the recital of their deeds, and the story of their trophies, I call upon you to act in a way worthy of your country; bearing in mind that your ancestors erected those trophies, not for you to gaze upon with fruitless wonder, but that the sight might urge you to emulate the virtues of those who raised them."* Tho last clause {vopiZtn toiwv, &c.) is repeated almost word for word from tho oration De Rep. Ord.,\ where it is attached to another sentence, taken, with many others, as closely from the Third Olynthiac. :£ The repetitions of which we are treating can rarely be traced in tbe great oration for Ctesiphon. In the speech itself there is a remarkable repetition of the invocation with which it opens. Yet even there we may perceive ideas, formerly thrown out, again pre sented in an improved and expanded form. Thus, the expressive simile taken from bodily infirmities, bitterly applied to the silence or quiescence of JEschines, ex- * Orat. Grcec, i., 201. f Id., i., 174. J Id., i., 36. DEMOSTHENES. 187 ccpting when the state was in danger, occurs not then for the first time in the orator's history; dia-wip ra pny/uara Kai ra (riraapara brav ti kukov to aiopa Aapn, tote KivEtrat.* This idea, it must be admitted, is of the boldest; the comparison depending for the justness of its application upon the assumption, that ./Eschines is in the nature of an old disease which has crept into the system, and, being quiet in the healthy state of the body, breaks out the moment any accident happens, and seizes on the weak point. The same comparison, in words very similar, had been used by Demosthenes many years before, in the Second Olyn thiac (sometimes called the First). It is there applied, in a less adventurous manner, to the tendency which success has to cover Philip's defects — sirav Se apptma- Tripa n vvpfdii 7ravra Kivurai, Kai priypa, Kai arpsppa, Kai aXXo ti twv VTTapxovrwv vadpov rj.f Although the bitter description of Philip's vices, and the profligacy of his court, which immediately precedes this simile, is introduced partly to prove the weakness of his dynasty, and encourage the Athenians with the hope that its days are numbered, yet the digression (for such the orator, by his apology, seems conscious that it has become) runs away with him, and the simile is applied, not to the weakness of Philip, the principal point in discussion, but to the vices, which form the subject of the episode. This is clear from the ovstSi;, which he says are now veiled by success, but will anon be disclosed u ti TTTatmtg. It may therefore be ob served, that there is a little incorrectness in the reasoning, which is somewhat in a circle ; for, first, the vices of Philip are introduced to prove his weak ness ; then those vices, concealed by his success, are to be exposed by his failure. But in another oration, that upon the Letter, sometimes called the Eleventh Philippic, and which consists, even more than the • Orat. Grcec, i., 291. f Id., i., 24. 188 GREEK ORATORS. Fourth, of repetitions from the former speeches, Demosthenes again introduces the same figure, and almost in the same words, with, however, a more correct application ; for the general description of Philip's vices is there omitted ; and the simile is only employed to illustrate the probability of any reverse being fatal to his power, by calling into action its hidden imperfections. The alterations made in the composition here are remarkable. The comparison having been introduced with avpfiaivu yap, the verb appwo-rrjo-n is used instead of the noun appivaTiipa with o-vpfiri ; and aaOpiov and uaOpov having been both used in the same sentence in the Olynthiac, pri teAeojc vyiaivov is delicately substituted for the latter word in the Philippic* When he makes use of this favourite figure a third time in the great oration, the passage may be supposed to have attained a still more exquisite degree of refinement. The composition is evidently more perfect ; and, though the application may be somewhat more violent, the diction is far simpler, and the rhythm more harmonious. In the former part of the passage in the Second Olynthiac, on which we have been commenting, we have that fine piece of eloquence so justly admired by all lovers of this great orator, in which he displays the slippery foundation of ill-gotten power. Any transla-' tion so close as to deserve the name, and yet retain the beauties, is always hopeless from the Greek ; but the following may be something like a remote approxima tion, where, to come near the diction, preserving the sense, appears impracticable : — "When a confederacy rests upon union of sentiments, and all have one common interest in the war, men take a. delight in sharing the same toils, in bearing the same burthens, and in persevering to the end. But when, by aggression and intrigue, one party, like this prince, has waxed powerful over the rest, the first pretext, the slightest reverse, shakes off the yoke, and * Oral. Grcec, i., 156. DEMOSTHENES. 189 it is gone ! For it is not, 0 men of Athens, it is not in nature that stability should be given to power by oppression, and false hood, and perjury. Dominion may for once be thus obtained : it may even endure for a season ; and, by the favour of fortune, may present to men's hopes a flourishing aspect ; but time will search it, and of itself it must crumble in pieces. For as the lower part of buildings and vessels, and all such structures, should be the most solid, so ought the motives and principles of our actions to be founded in justice and in truth." The changes which this passage has undergone, when repeated in the oration upon the Letter, are remarkable ; it is contracted, and is less rich and splendid; but the diction appears to be more exqui sitely elaborated. Instead of 7rAE0vs£iac Kai irovtipiag, it is vmfiovXrig Kat nXioviZiag, both to avoid the allit&ration, and because Trovnpta expresses the busy, rather than the crafty qualities of the intriguer ; airart} koi fiia are also introduced as the instruments by which ambition and intrigue work; instead of irpoorn Trpoxov -n-Tatcrpa, to avoid the alliteration ; and because " a slight pretext, an ordinary reverse," is perhaps more descriptive, besides that both epithets are in the same degree of comparison ; toxewc is inserted between rrraicrpa and a7ravra, to prevent the two a's coming together ; and, lastly, the remarkable word avs^amo-s, shook off as does a horse impatient of its burthen, is changed into StEo-fio-E, a more ordinary expression, though one also of great force, and which may perhaps be safely rendered in this place, shivered to pieces. The praises bestowed by some commen tators upon avixairtac, may therefore be corrected by the ultimate decision of the most chaste and severe taste ever known in the world, that of Demosthenes, in his revision of his own compositions. The pre ference may have been given to Sieo-eio-e, partly to avoid the two a's coming together, but most likely because the former word had been thought to convey a figure too violent for the rigorous abstinence of the 190 GREEK ORATORS. Attic taste.* The translation of the altered part of the passage will therefore stand thus : — " But when intrigue and ambition have created the dynasty (as he has done) by treachery and by violence, the slightest pretext, the most common mischance, shivers it in a moment, and it is gone I" In all orators, we fear, certain inconsistencies may be traced ; certain variations in the views taken of the same subject, according to the topic in hand ; and Demosthenes himself is no exception to the remark. This seems naturally incident to the rhetorical art, to the vehemence and exaggeration in which it delights, independently of the risk to which a professional advocate is exposed of being employed successively on opposite sides of a question, involving the same general observations, and turning upon the same prin ciples. Besides the change of councils, which has been often remarked in Demosthenes upon one or two great public questions, we frequently find him appealing to the same maxim in contrary ways. Thus, when it suits his purpose, he will say that every one knows how much easier it is to gain than to keep ; when, at another time, for an opposite view, he had treated, as an admitted truth, that preserving was less difficult than acquiring. But it seems extremely strange to find him so hurried away by his zeal — so wrapt up in the matter immediately before him — as to state, in a manner diametrically reversed, matters of fact in the * Reiske (Orat. Grmc, xii., 62) explains avaxain^ai by the effect of stroking the hair or mane of any animal from tbe tail towards the head; and also by the effect of fear or anger in raising the hair or the mane. Constantine renders it, when neuter, mordere frenum ut equus erectis jubis; and, when active, cohibere pllis relractisf — and H. Steph. gives nearly the same sense, citing the passage of tbe Second Olynth. "re- troagere— reprimere coma retrorsum tracta." If such were the meaning, it is not wonderful that Demosthenes should have changed the word ; for the sense he intended to express was the reverse, viz., liberation from pre vious temporary restraint, and regaining the natural position. But see Hesych. and TJlpian. cit. in Not., where a meaning is given to the word exactly corresponding to our translation. DEMOSTHENES. 191 history and usages of the commonwealth. We allude to a remarkable passage in that splendid oration against Aristocrates, which will bear a comparison with any of the others, though Plutarch says that it was composed in his twenty-seventh or twenty-eighth year ; and it certainly was delivered when he was only thirty, by Euthycrates, for whom it was written. The object of it was to attack a decree denouncing outlawry against any person who should slay Chari demus, as a remuneration for the services of that foreign general. In the beautiful passage to which we are referring, the orator contrasts with this lavish distribution of public honours, nay, this invention of a new privilege, the slowness of their ancestors even to admit that individuals, and individuals of their own country, had the merit of saving the state, and the scanty reward which they deemed equivalent to any services a stranger could render. His argument is, that when foreigners had conferred the highest benefits on the state, they never were in return protected by such decrees as the one in favour of Charidemus, but obtained the rights of citizenship, which were not then prostituted, and therefore were deemed of high value ; and he names two instances of this judicious system of rewards, Menon and Perdiccas. Now, in the oration upon the government of the commonwealth, he is inveighing against the prostitution of public honours, and particularly that lavish distribution of the rights of citizenship ; and he repeats, almost word for word, the passage which he had composed for Euthycrates ; except that he says their ancestors never thought of giving those rights of citizenship to Menon and Per diccas, but only an exemption from tribute, deeming the title of citizen to be a reward far greater than any service could justify them in bestowing. In the oration against Aristocrates, after describing the services ren dered by Menon, he says, in return for these benefits, "our ancestors did not pass a decree of outlawry 192 GREEK ORATORS. against any one who should attempt Menon's life aAAa 7roAt7-£(av fSoa-av — and this honour they deemed an ample compensation."* But in the oration upon the commonwealth, after describing Menon's services in the same words, he says, " ovk epr\d>iaavTo -uoXiruav, aXX' ariXeiav eSojkov povov."^ Again, in the two orations, he describes Perdiccas's services in the same words ; but in the one, he says, our ancestors did not decree that whoever attempted his life should be out lawed, aAAa 7roAtr£tav eSojkov povov ; and in the other he says, ouk £i//jj^>to-avro 7roAtr£tai' aAA' areXeiav iSwKav povov, and adds, that they withheld the 7roAtr£(a, " because they deemed their country great, and venerable, and glorious, and the privilege of bear ing its name far above any stranger's deserts,"! Both orations then proceed to complain, but in different language, of the manner in which that title had been prostituted. From the detailed examination into which we have entered of these repetitions, two conclusions may be drawn, both highly illustrative of the degree in which oratory among the Greeks was considered as an art demanding the utmost care, and calculated to exhibit the mere display of skill, as well as to attain more important objects. In the first place, we find that the greatest of all orators never regarded the composition of any sentence worthy of him to deliver, as a thing of easy execution. Practised as he was, and able surely, if any man ever was, by his mastery over language, to pour out his ideas with facility, he elaborated every * Orat Grcec, torn, i., pt. 2., p. 687. f H- '•¦ 173- X It might have been supposed that, in the oration against Aristocrates, nnma bad. by an error crept into the MSS. instead of anXua ; but, besides that, the expression ixavn npn applied to the reward the first time it is mentioned, would not be justly descriptive of the merely pecuniary exemption in which the anhu-.t consists : the second instance, "that of Per diccas, is immediately followed by the reason, namely, that the to yiv-alai voXiras ¦*. g vpiv was always held a sufficient honour to call forth any sen ices. DEMOSTHENES. 193 passage with almost equal care. Having the same ideas to express, he did not, like our easy and fluent moderns, clothe them in different language for the sake of variety ; but reflecting that he had, upon the fullest deliberation, adopted one form of expression as the best, and because every other must needs be worse, he used it again without any change, unless further labour and more trials had enabled him in any particular to improve the workmanship. They who speak or write with little or no labour to themselves, and proportion- ably small satisfaction to others, would, in similar circumstances, find it far easier to compose anew, than to recollect or go back to what they had finished on a former occasion. Not so the mighty Athenian, whom we find never disdaining even to make use of half a sentence which he had once happily wrought, and treasured up as complete ; nay, to draw part of a sentence from one quarter and part from another, applying them by some slight change to the new occasion, and perhaps adding some new member, — thus presenting the whole, in its last form, made of portions fabricated at three different periods, several years asunder. Nothing can more strikingly demon strate how difficult, in the eyes of the first of all orators and writers, that composition was, which so many speakers and authors, in all after ages, have thought the easiest part of their task. But another inference may be drawn from the com parisons into which we have entered. If they prove the extreme pains taken by the orator, they illustrate as strikingly the delicate sense of rhetorical excellence in the Athenian audience ; and seem even to show that they enjoyed a speech as modern assemblies do a theatrical exhibition, a fine drama or piece of music, which, far from losing by repetition, can only produce its full effect after a first or even a second representa tion has made it thoroughly understood. It seems hardly possible, on any other supposition, to account o 194 GREEK ORATORS. for many of the repetitions in Demosthenes. A single sentence, or even a passage of some length, if it con tained nothing very striking, might be given twice to a court or a popular assembly in modern times, after no great interval of time ; but who could now venture upon making a speech, about two-thirds of which had been spoken at different times, and nearly half of it upon one occasion the very year before ? This would be impossible, how little soever there might be of bold figures, and other passages of striking effect. But we find Demosthenes repeating, almost word for word, some of his most striking passages — those which must have been universally known, and the recurrence of which might have been foreseen by the context. It seems to modern readers hardly possible to conceive that the functions of the critic thus performed by the Athenians should not have interfered with the capacity of actors or judges, in which it was certainly the orator's business chiefly to address them ; and that the warmth of feeling, arising from a sense of the reality of all they were hearing, should not sometimes have been cooled by the recollection of the very artificial display they were witnessing. Yet no fact in history is more unquestionable than the union of the two capacities in the Athenian audience, — their exquisite discrimination and high relish of rhetorical beauties, with their susceptibility of the strongest emotions which the orator could desire to excite. The powers of the artist become, no doubt, all the more wonderful on this account; and no one can deny that he was an artist, and trusted as little to inspiration as Clairon and the other actors, of whose unconcern during the delivery of passages which were convulsing the audience, so many striking anecdotes are preserved. In the whole range of criticism, there is not perhaps a more sound remark than that of Quintilian, which has sometimes been deemed paradoxical, only because it is profound, in his celebrated comparison of the DEMOSTHENES. 195 Greek and Roman masters — Currn plus in illo; in hoc natural. Although the difference between the ancient and modern audience, and, above all other diversities, perhaps, the abundant supply of composition through the press, and the universally diffused habits of read ing, must render it impracticable to restore anything hke the niceties of execution and of criticism which we have been contemplating ; yet we may safely affirm, that even the most ordinary assembly of hearers have a far better taste than they generally get credit for. Cicero remarked this long ago ; and there is certainly no reason why the observation should be more applicable to a Roman multitude than to any other. "Mirabile est" (says he) "cum plurimum in faciendo intersit inter doctum et rudem, quam non multum differat in judicando." — {De Orat., iii.) But that the chief excellence of the Greek orator, rapid argument, and, still more, striking points strongly and shortly made, and in choice language — always har monious except where the subject requires a discord, or where sweetness is incompatible with force, — that this would be infallibly successful with a modern audience, when so few of Cicero's beauties could be borne, we conceive to be a proposition which requires no proof beyond the attentive study of almost any of the Athenian's works. Let any reader who has been accustomed to hear debates in Parliament, note what passages have struck him most in those works, and he will find that they are the sort of things which have the most instantaneous success in modern speeches; which produce the most sudden and thrilling sensa tions ; and, finding in every bosom an echo, occasion the loudest expressions of assent. Now, some speakers may create admiration by careful composition alone, or without sallies ; but they do not find their way as the old Greek did to our hearts. Others may find their way thither without the just care of composition ; 196 GREEK ORATORS. but he united both powers, and concealed, for the time at least, the labour by which the combination was effected. Can we marvel that his success was prodi gious — and that it was equally complete with hearers whom he was to move, and with critics whom he was to please ? But the experiment which we are suggest ing must be made by a very attentive reader ; and it may not succeed at the first. He must imbue himself so thoroughly with a knowledge of all the circum stances in which the oration was delivered, that he can enter at once into the situation of the speaker and the hearer ; and he must ponder accurately the words used in each fine passage, often read them, and often repeat them, until their power is familiar to his mind, and their force and their harmony to his ear. In no other way can he enter into the feelings with which they were heard by those to whom the language was natural, and the extremely small number of the topics as well known as the features of their own or the orator's countenance. It will thus be found, that there is not any long and close train of reasoning in the Orations, still less any profound observations, or remote and ingenious allusions ; but a constant succession of remarks, bearing immediately upon the matter in hand, perfectly plain, and as readily admitted as easily understood. These are intermingled with the most striking appeals, some times to feelings which all were conscious of, and deeply agitated by, though ashamed to own; some times to sentiments which every man was panting to utter, and delighted to hear thundered forth— bursts of oratory, therefore, which either overwhelmed or relieved the audience. Such hits, if we may use a homely phrase (for more dignified language has no word to express the thing), are the principal glory of the great combatant; it is by these that he carries all before him, and to them that he sacrifices all the paltry graces which are the delight of the Asian and DEMOSTHENES. 197 Italian schools. Suppose the audience in the state we are figuring, it is evident that one sentence, or paren thesis, or turn of expression — a single phrase — the using a word, or pronouncing a name, at the right place and in the just sense, may be all that is wanting to rouse the people's feelings, or to give them vent. Now in this way, and not by chains of reasoning, like mathematical demonstration or legal argument, it is that Demosthenes carries us away; and it is in no otherwise that an assembly at the present day is to be inspired and controlled. Whosoever among the moderns has had great success in eloquence, may be found not perhaps to have followed the Grecian master, but certainly in some sort to have fallen into his track. Had he studied correctness equally, the effect would have been heightened, and a far more excellent thing would have been offered to our deliberate admiration, after its appeal to the feelings had been successfully made. In illustration of these remarks, we might refer to the fine passages upon which we have already com mented, only with the view of examining their com position. Who, for instance, can doubt that the Aeyeto n Kaivov is a burst of the very kind most adapted to electrify an English House of Commons ? Indeed, we may go farther; for, change Macedon into Corsica, and substitute Europe for Greece, the passage itself might have been pronounced at any time during the late war with infallible success — or perhaps, in the present day, we might apply it to the Calmuck mem bers of the Holy Alliance. But let us attend to one or two of his turns, where the argument is more enlarged. In the oration upon the Chersonese, his principal object is to defend Diopeithes against the charge of having caused the war by his inroad into Thrace, and to obtain for him the support of the country in those operations necessary to support his army ; and he begins by grappling with the arguments 198 GREEK ORATORS. of those who are so ready to call everything done by Diopeithes an attack upon Philip, and yet never can see any harm in Philip, who had done all but attack their arsenals; and observe how suddenly he turns this trite topic into a conclusive answer to every thing urged by those same partizans of Philip against Diopeithes, and, as it were, finishes the discussion at the first blow. " But, for Heaven's sake, let them not still pretend that Philip, so long as he lets Attica and the Piraeus alone, neither wrongs the country nor wages war against it. If this be their notion of right — this their definition of peace — unjust, indeed, and intolerable it manifestly is, and fatal to your security ; — but, at all events, it is utterly repugnant to the charges with which those very men are bearing down Diopeithes ; for with what consistency can they suffer Philip to do every one act short of invading Attica, and call it peace; and yet, the moment Diopeithes succours the Thracians, accuse him of making war upon Philip?"* After showing the dangerous tendency of Philip's projects, and the evils of letting him bring the war near their country, he breaks out into a vehement inculpation of the Athenians, for their numberless negligences and follies in the conduct of their affairs. This passage has all the characteristic fire and rapidity and point of the orator ; it affords, too, an example of a very fine repetition, in which the same words are used a second time with the most powerful effect, and the whole is brought to bear full upon the question of Diopeithes, which is first introduced by a skilful parenthesis. The orator's favourite figure of antithesis is not spared ;f and the original is as sonorous to the * Orat Grate, i., 91. f The love of this figure, as is well known, was one of the very few parts of his oratory upon which the vile scurrility of the Greek satirists (or rather buffoons) could fix. Even those abandoned writers, shameless as they were in their attacks upon the orator's life, which by fabrications they could misrepresent, durst not sneer at his works, because they were DEMOSTHENES. 199 ear as it is striking by the sense with which it is so over-informed. " 'Hpsig ovts xprlrlara E'c^spav fiovXopsOa, ovts avroi GTpaTEveaOai roXpiopsv, ovt* twv koivwv airs- XtaOai SvvapsOa, ours rag uvvra^sig Aioirsi9si SiSopsv, ovd' ba av avrog avrw TropiaTirai, siratvovpsv, aAAa fiatTKaivopsv Kai o-K07roujU£v, nodsv Kai ti psXXsi ttgiuv, koi wavra ra rotaura, out' £7rEtSr)7r£p oura>e sx°tJiZvi ra ripsrsp' avrcov npaTTiiv sdsXopsv. aXX' ev psv roig Xoyoig, rovg Trig noXswg Xsyovrag a%ia siraivovpsv' ev Se rote spyoig roig svavriovpsvoig rovrotg avvaywvt- Z,opiQa. i pug pev toivov siwOaTS saarors rov wapovra spwrav, ti ovv XP*! iroitiv ; syio S' vpag spoorricrai fiovXopai ; ti ovv XP*! Xeysiv ; Et yap pairs siaoiasrs, pairs avroi o-rpar£ucTEo-0E, juute twv koivojv atystisaOs, prjTt rag avvrat^sig AtOTTEtOEt Sojctete, prjrs bo' av avrog avno Tropiaiirai, Eaaars, juute ra vpiTtp' avroov irparrsiv sOsXticrsTS, ouk £Xw Tl Xsyio' si yap ijSn TocrauTrjv E^ouaiav rote aiTiaaOai Kai Sta/BaAAEtv j3ouAo/i£votc SiSote, wote KOI 7T£pj (jjv av (j>ac>i psXXsiv avrov TTOISIV, Kai nspi tovtwv TTpoKaTriyopovvTwv aKpoaaOat, ti av rig Xsyoi ; — (Reiske, Orat. Graze, i., 95). "You neither choose to contribute your money — nor dare to serve in person — nor bear to sacrifice your shares in the distributions — nor do you furnish to Diopeithes the appointed supplies — nor give him credit for supplying himself, but vilify him for what he has done, and pry into what he is going to do : * nor can you apply yourselves to the management of your own affairs ; but you go on lauding, by your words, those whose councils are worthy of their country, while, by your actions, you are straining every nerve for their before the public. An extreme care of composition, and fondness for antithesis, was all they could lay to his charge. Thus, ironically, he is termed — pmuv Xoyous avfyanros, ov^ti trwzarz avrthrov siiruv ouBiv. — Athen. vi., 224. * His accustomed tavra rx roiaura. is also here, in which a feebleness of sense, perhaps, was covered by the effect of the sound in closing a period or member. 200 GREEK ORATORS. antagonists. Then, you are perpetually asking of each speaker who appears — what is to be done? But I would fain ask you — what is to be said? For if you* will neither contribute, nor serve, nor sacrifice your shares, nor furnish Diopeithes his supplies, nor suffer him to supply himself, nor attend to your own affairs, I know not what is to be said; for, if you will give such licence to those who are sifting and calumniating his conduct, that you must lend an ear both to their predictions of what he may hereafter do, and to the positive charges which they ground on those predic tions, what can any one say?" This wonderfully condensed and most spirited exposure (in the last clause) of the unbearable injustice practised towards the general, must remind every reader of many pas sages of Mr. Fox's speeches; one in particular we recollect, upon the conduct and consequences of the War, in the debate on Parliamentary Reform in 1797. In passages of the same effect the Third Philippic especially abounds ; in fire and variety, indeed, it is surpassed by none of the lesser orations ; and by some it is preferred to all the rest. The argument against trusting Philip's friends, and giving up those orators who had steadily opposed him, drawn from the ex ample of other states who had fallen into this snare, as Oritum, Eretria, and Olynthus, merits especial attention. Nothing can be finer than the burst of irony at the close of that part beginning KaArjv y ot 7roAAot — "A noble f return have the Oritans met with, for betaking themselves to Philip's creatures, * We have rendered both portions of the passage in the second person ; the original changes from the first to the second, for a reason only appli cable to the Greek, namely, the beautiful variety afforded by the flexion. Thus, the first part runs — fiouropsfa, roXpupiv, imapifx, iiiopiv, iSi\opiv, &c. ; the second, tairiri, s9-iX^o-£r(, &c. The force of ¦r^ox^rnyo^ouvrojv, following p:Xkuv, as it does, can only be rendered by the repetition in the text, which gives the sense accurately. t The literal translation "fine" or "pretty," expresses the sense com pletely, but is too colloquial. DEMOSTHENES. 201 and abandoning Euptraeus ! A noble treatment have the Eretrians received, for dismissing your ambas sadors and surrendering themselves to Clitarchus — they are now enslaved, and tortured, and scourged ! * Nobly have the Olynthians fared for giving the com mand of their horse to Lasthenes, while they banished Apollonides ! " Now, every name here pronounced awakened in the audience the recollection of events deeply interesting to them ; and the few words applied to each were sufficient to bring up the most lively idea of those circumstances on which the orator desired to dwell. Both the orations upon the embassy afford many fine examples of the same kind. In that of Demosthenes, we may note the observations upon his motives in preferring the charge, especially the part beginning o-K07r£iT£ si s(f 6te,f — the description of Philip's peculiar fortune, that when he stood in need of mischievous men to do his work, wovripwv avQpwiriov, he always found men even more mischievous than he wanted, 7rov»7po- rspovg svpstv i) sfiovXiTo, — perhaps, too, the bitter description of the Athenian populace, which he puts into the mouths of his adversaries, but seems to have wrought as highly as if he meant to adopt it.J But the oration for Ctesiphon abounds in these passages more than all the rest, and in a far greater variety. It may suffice to remind the classical reader of the powerful description of Philip, where he contrasts his conduct with that of the Athenians, and presents him wounded and maimed, but cheerfully abandoning to fate any of his limbs, provided what was left might live in honour and renown ; the exposure of the variance between the charge and the decree on which it purports to proceed, particularly the passage that follows the decree ; the exposure of ^Eschines's incon- * There is no giving the force of the Greek here— "oouXiuoutn ye patrriyovptvot xai argi&Xovpivoi. — Orat. Grcec, i., 128. t Orat. Graze, i., 410. X Md, 383. 202 (1H10KK OHATOIIN. sistoncy in ascribing to I'urfuno tho liivourublo result of it more statesman's councils, while ho imputes to I huso councils tho disasters that arise in the operations of tho war; tho appeal to his own NorvieoH, which had, for tho first time, obtained for AtheiiH the extraordinary honour of a crown from the other Slates of Greece, the question now being, whether the very ordinary honours of the civic crown had been rightly decreed lo him ; with almost every other sentence ol' that long and wonderful passage which immediately follows his Thnhau Decree; and more especially the part begin ning i- 1 yap TttiiTii TTfnniTo iiKuvm. Upon those, how ever, we have the less invasion to enlarge hero, HU they will, fall afterwards under consideration with, reference to the subject of these remarks, when wo discuss the merits of the translation, and offer thu specimens wo have promised. The grand excellence which wo have been contem plating, is, if not peculiar to Demosthenes, at least possessed by him in a degree prodigiously Hllperior to any ether orator of n.neionl times, /EsehinoH excepted, who abounds in lino passages of a. Himilar description, though more dill'use, and more verbose also, anil Iiish eogenl, in their effect, as well uh rapid ill succession. Mis richness is, however, truly magniliceiit, and appeai'H almost to have been a compensation for tho diminution of strength in Iho judgment of Cicero, who indeed resembles him morn than his great rival, though it is impossible to think that bo formed lim style upon either model. The reader who, without studying hiw masterpiece, the defence of his conduct in the emba-SHy, would form at once an idea, of /Esehines's boaufioH, anil his more luxuriant manner, may turn to the truly Domosthonean attack upon Demosthenes, in the oration against Ctesiphon, where he draws his invective from an Athenian law, analogous to our law of dondnniln; and l,o the concluding part of (lie oration against Timarchus; from one line burst in which Lucretius DEMOSTHENES. 203 has evidently borrowed, in his description of the real hell created by unruly desires — " pri' yap oisa&s" — " roue riasfiriKOTag Troivag sXavsiv, Kai TroXa^eiv Bacriv rippsvaig." — " Think not that it is furies, like those we see on the stage, who chase the wicked, and torment them with flaming torches ; but lawless appetites," &c, &c. — "these are the real furies," &c* But Cicero himself twice copied this great passage ; in his earliest speech, the " Pro Sexto Roscio," and still more closely in his later oration, that of " In L. Pisonem," which is almost a translation from JEschines.f Demosthenes studied under Isseus ; but no speeches of that orator are preserved, excepting upon mere private causes ; and we confess that the total want of interest in the subject, and the minuteness of the topics, has always made a perusal of them so tedious, as to prevent us from being duly sensible of the force and keenness in which he was said to abound. Demos thenes is also understood to have resembled Pericles in his style. But this is a subject upon which no modern can speak, nor indeed any one except those who lived in the days of Demosthenes, and might therefore have received accounts of Pericles from his contemporaries ; for it seems certain that he left nothing in writing behind him, and that the orations in Thucydides, which bear his name, were written by others — pro bably by that historian himself. J {Quint., III., 1, and XII., 2.) But Demosthenes is known to have deeply studied that historian ; and though the three orations * Reiske, Orat Grate, iii., 187. f " Nolite enim putare ut in scend videtis, homnes consceleratus impulsu deorum teneri furiarum tasctisde dentibus. Sua quemque frenso suum facinus, suum scelus— sua audacia, de sanitate ac mente deturbat. Hse sunt impiorum Purise — hse flammse — hse faces." — (In L. cap. Pis.) He has a similar passage in his treatise De Legg., lib. i. It is remarkable how much he had improved in his last treatises, the Pro Sexto and the In Pisonem; but it is also remarkable how much closer he came to the original in the latter work. X The passage in Cicero (De Orat, lib. ii.,) seems by no means sufficient evidence of Pericles having left works behind him. 204 GREEK ORATORS. there given as those of Pericles, resemble anything rather than that "thunder and lightning" which tradition has ascribed to him, yet there is something in the diction, particularly the chaste and beautiful antitheses,* which may have been copied by the great orator of the succeeding age. In abundance of general remark, and want of cogent reasoning, they rather resemble the speeches in Sallust. One of them, in deed, is a funeral oration, and the other was spoken to soothe the angry passions of the multitude. Upon the prevailing character of extreme concise ness which has been so often remarked in the style of Demosthenes, and which extends to his figures, to the ornamental as well as the argumentative and narrative parts (if indeed we can make any such distinction in him who had nothing of mere ornament), one observa tion must be added. If the orations were spoken in all respects as they now appear, it is extremely difficult to conceive how they should, in all their parts, have produced their full effect. Possibly, when afterwards written over, some things may have been omitted — some of that expansion curtailed which seems almost indispensable in speaking, as we know for certain that some passages have been left out in both iEschines and Demosthenes, from the allusions to them which are to be found in the replies. It will not be imagined that we, for an instant, think of commending the con trary extreme of diffuseness, of overloading, of re dundant point and figure and circumstance into which modern composers of all kinds, both writers and speakers, have run, never satisfied without exhausting each idea, and running down, as it were, every topic that presents itself. Yet one can hardly suppose any audience so quick, as, in the time required for uttering two or three words, to seize the whole meaning which they allude to, rather than convey. "Vitanda ilia * See particularly the first of these speeches, Thucyd., lib. i., sub. fin. DEMOSTHENES. 205 brevitas et abruptum sermonis genus, quod otiosum forte lectorem minus fallit, audientem transvolat, nee dum repetatur expectat." Even the cejebrated simile in the great speech, which has been so much admired by those who judged of its effect as readers, the wtnrsp vetpog, seems liable to this remark ; the words that go before scarcely prepare the hearer sufficiently for what is coming, and the speaker is in the middle of some thing else before the due impression can have been made. It deserves our attention, that in another passage, where a similar figure is introduced, some MSS. add another word. In most editions, no doubt, it is ojo-ttejO ^£tjua/0|0ouc av airav tovto to npaypa sig rr)v ttoXiv Eto-£7T£o-£ : but in one MS. which Taylor has followed,* it is wmrep o-KT?7rroe t) xulxaPPovQ- ^n applying to modern languages the rules of rigorous conciseness; in teaching those who must use instru ments comparatively so feeble, that most difficult lesson "to blot," — a lesson as hard to an author as "to forget" is to a lover, and for the same reason, his fondness — it must be distinctly admitted, not only that more words are required to express the same ideas, but that it may often be necessary to crowd more ideas into the same passage, in order to make only an equal impression to what the ancient would have accom plished by the powers of his finer language. Thus, Xttpappovg both signifies, in one word, a winter torrent, and, by its fine sound, produces on the hearer an effect equal to our translation of both oKinTrTog and X^ipappovg together. Consider for a moment the fine words collected in any of Demosthenes's grander pas sages, as the famous oath, where we have such verbs as 7rpoKivSuvEvTac and rrajoara^ayUEvouc- Even * See Reiske, i., 278. So Wolf, &c. In another passage of the same oration (292), o-xirrros n xc'pv> is used in all the MSS. which omit the former word in the first passage. But we cannot help regarding the Ximiuv as an interpolation, — which seems to be Reiske's opinion also.— Vide note in torn. xi. 206 GREEK ORATORS. admitting that we have something like the aorist in English, at any rate we have no participles which in one word convey the ideas of action and time together ; then we have no particles which enable one word to express a whole sentence as here — "exposing them selves to dangers in warding off a meditated attack;" or "for the common safety of Greece" — and, lastly, we have few or none of those words which so fill the ear as to render a variation of the idea, by adding other words, superfluous. With them a word often produced the whole effect desired; while we must supply the defect of strength by addition. It must, on the other hand, be allowed, that our language gains considerably in delicacy what it loses in force. While many of the words in most ordinary use among the ancients, recalled, by their structure, their very base origin, and were indeed powerful in proportion to the plainness with which that origin was perceived, we question if there be one word in use among us, in serious composition, which savours of an indelicate etymology; and even the expressions allowed in lighter works, are only indelicate to those who know the foreign language they come* from. At the same time, we are aware that a certain violence of expression, in which Demosthenes and jEschines both indulge, may, independent both of the structure of the language, and of the difference of manners, be deemed to partake of coarseness. To this charge, perhaps, the saying of Dr. Johnson may afford a concise and not unjust answer — "Big thinkers require big words." 7 * Independent of the phrases of unequivocal grossness which ancient manners allowed to be bandied about in debate, words of an impure original were transferred to an ordinary acceptation, the etymon being. however plain to every Greek who beard "them — as xaravrvaro;, ^hXu^osj &c. Such words as rascal, gadso, &c, with us, are of foreign origin, which veils their grossness. f When Demosthenes describes (in the oration upon the Embassy) the attempts of Philip to corrupt the Orator, be uses the word ti-.xuioivivi, tried or sounded by making the money tinkle or chink in their ears ; a figure taken from the manner of trying horses by ringing a bell near DEMOSTHENES. 207 It may not be unfit to close this article, as we did a former one upon Roman eloquence, with a few words upon the pronunciation of the language among the ancients themselves. A passage in Quintilian then furnished us with the clue ; and the Greek Quintilian may render the same service on the present occasion. Dionysius of Halicarnassus plainly indicates, in a chap ter of his treatise on composition, which treats of the Letters, that the Greeks pronounced in a manner wholly different from our Southern neighbours, and much more nearly resembling our own method, and that used upon the Continent. Thus, he says, a is, when long, the most sonorous of the vowels, and is pronounced by opening the mouth as wide as possible (avoty/UEvou E7rt 7rA£taTov), and raising the breath upwards, irpoc rov oupavov, whieh commentators con sider as a metaphor for the palate; v is pronounced, he says, by contracting the lips greatly, and stifling {nviysTat) the breath, and issuing a small sound ; the sound of i, in like manner, is described exactly as the Scotch and foreigners pronounce it; rj is described differently from both the English and Scotch pro nunciation, and resembling the Continental, if we mistake not, being the sound of the Latin e both in this and foreign countries. Of e, no distinct account is given, nor any account at all of the diphthongs.* Of the consonants, y_ was evidently pronounced as the Scotch and foreign nations sound it ; for, of the three, k, x and 7> i* is placed at the opposite extreme to, k, y being put as the middle between them, whereas the English confound it almost entirely with k. About £, there may be some doubt; for, in one place, we are them. Another "big thinker," in the Impeachment of 1806, said of the defendant — " Does he see money when it shines ? Does he hear it when it chinks?" * The use of the diphthong av, av, in Aristophanes, to express the bark ing of a dog, as we say bow, wow, clearly shows the diphthong to have been sounded in the Scotch and Continental manner. 208 GREEK ORATORS. told that it consists of o- and S* mingling, but so as to have the sound of both ; and, in another, it is de scribed as much more pleasing to the ear than the other double consonants. It appears, therefore, to have had a sound more soft than our Scotch pro nunciation, which preserves the S and a distinctly, but not quite so near the soft c as the English pro nunciation makes it. Of certain sounds peculiar to the English pronunciation, no trace is to be found in this author's remarks ; f as the i short, and also the long sound of the same vowel, if indeed' that be not rather a diphthongal sound. But persons more learned in these matters than we can pretend to be, may be aware of other authorities. The well-known saying of Milton, against pronouncing Latin in the English way, was, by him, confined to that language ; but there can be no doubt that his practice extended to Greek also. * The o- is put before S ; though, in describing the other two double consonants, it is put after 2. Is this an error in the transcriber — or is it a Loricism? — For we know that the Doric transposed the .pntr£, rots "h^afirais moti xat XiXomom rr,v rafyv avaflas ivt rov ratpov ra/v rtrtkEumxoraiv, tyxupia^tiv rttv ixuvw aprttv. Is it conceivable that such an artist as TEsdiines, who here resorts to a far-fetched, though very fine allusion, should have let slip the obvious advantage which the expressions above cited from the supposed funeral oration gave him, had they really been used? * The funeral oration, ascribed to Pericles in Thucydides, is still more undeniably made for him ; but it proves beyond a doubt, that one of this illustrious orator's greatest efforts was of that kind. PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 263 The sermon upon Queen Henrietta Maria's death is esteemed among his finest, and probably would be pitched upon as his masterpiece. Now, passing over the subject-matter — which in displays of this class- is always secondary — dismissing from our view such theories as those which ascribe to the Reformation all the crimes of our civil wars — such gross flatteries as that which can find in Charles I.'s whole life no error but the amiable failing of too much clemency, which he shares with Julius Caesar, and can single out no quali ties so undeniably belonging to his character as wisdom and justice — there is, nevertheless, a way of expressing such nonsense which makes it more intolerable, and compels us at once to reject it, as there is also a manner of enfolding it in imagery, and conveying it in chaste and subdued diction, which beguiles our better judgment, and makes us receive it unawares. The exquisite adulation of Cicero to Csesar, has this remarkable quality, that it is so delicately managed, as to be no more offensive to the bystander, or even to the reader (a severer test), than to the object of it. But the clumsy preacher at the first sickens us with the subject and the artist. " Que lui peut-on reprocher, sinon la clemence 1 Je veux bien avouer de lui, ce qu'un auteur celebre a dit de Cesar." — " Qu'il a ete clement jusqu'a etre oblige de s'en repentir." — " Que ce soit done la, si l'on veut, i'ilhistre defaut de Charles aussi bien que de Cesar." — " Comme il n'a jamais refuse ce qui etoit raisonable, etant vainqueur ; il a toujours rejete ce qui etoit foible et injuste, etant captif."* — " Grande Reine !" (says he, apostrophizing Henrietta Maria), "je satisfais a, vos plus tendres desirs, quand je celebre ce Monarque ; et ce coeur que n'a jamais vecu que pour lui, se reveille, tout poudre qu'il est, et devient sensible, meme sous ce drap mor- * So thought not the unfortunate king himself, when he admitted that he jnstly merited his fate for not rejecting Strafford's bill of attainder, and while he was at libeity. 264 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. tuaire, au nom d'un epoux si cher, a, qui sea ennemis memes accorderont le titre de sage et celui de juste," &c. But it is not only the Queen's deceased husband that draws the preacher off his subject ; her living son-in-law, being present in the church, is addressed at some length — exhorted to work upon tbe power and the virtue of Louis XIV. and Charles II., for the peace of the two countries ; and told, " que 1'on peut tout esperer d'un Prince que la sagesse conseille, que la valeur anime, et que la justice accompagne dans toutes ses actions." — " Mais (he suddenly exclaims), ou m'emporte mon zele, si loin de mon triste sujet ? Je m'arrete a considerer les vertus de Philippe, et ne songe pas que je vous dois l'histoire des malheurs d'Henriette !" He afterwards addresses himself to the wife of Philippe, and daughter of Henrietta Maria, apparently present also, but with a far-fetched contriv ance, perhaps as absurd as any on record in the worst schools of rhetoric. The Duchess, as is well known, was born at Exeter, whence her mother was obliged to fly immediately after her confinement, and leave her in the power of the Parliamentary army. This happened in 1664. The preacher, in 1669, long after all the perils of her infancy are over, and when she is grown up and safely married and settled in France, most fervently prays for her preservation from the enemies who surrounded her cradle. " Princesse I dont la destinee est si grande et si glorieuse, faut-il que vois naissiez en la puissance des ennemis de votre maison ? 0 Eternel ! veillez sur elle ; anges saints ! ranger a 1'entour vos escadrons invisibles, et faites la garde autour du berceau d'une Princesse si grande et si delaissee. Elle est destinee" (he goes on to inform the angels as a reason for watching her) " au sage et valeureux Philippe ! et doit des Princes a la France, dignes de lui, dignes d'elle, et de leurs aieux !" Of Charles II. he says, in plain terms, that " his reign is peaceful and glorious, and that he causes justice, PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 265 wisdom, and mercy to reign with him." Certes, these effusions are not from the great master, who exclaimed, " Cave ignoscas ! Hsec nee hominis, nee ad hominem, vox est: Qua, qui apud te C. Csesar utetur, suam citius abjiciet humanitatem, quam extorquebit tuam ;" and who afterwards flattered the conqueror in such terms as these — the model no doubt of the French artist, — but which he has most successfully copied — " Vidi enim et cognovi quid maxime spectares, cum pro alicujus salute multi laborarent, causas, apud te rogantium graviores esse quam vultus : neque spec- tare te quam tuus esse, necessarius is qui te oraret, sed quam illius pro quo laboraret. Itaque tribuis tu quidem tuis ita multa, ut mihi beatiores illi esse videantur interdum, qui tua liberalitate fruuntur, quam tu ipse, qui illis tam multa concedis. Sed video tamen apud te causas, ut dixi, rogantium valere plus quam preces ; ab iisque te moveri maxime, quarum justifissimum dolorem videas in petendo." — {Pro. Lig.) The Panegyricks of Bossuet, or Discourses in Praise of the Virgin, the Apostles, and Saints, are still more offensive to correct taste ; containing, with much ex cellent composition, and many displays of a subtle, though perverse ingenuity, an abundance of the most childish conceits, and whining exclamations, calculated to sicken and divert, rather than awaken or sustain devotional feelings ; while the topics of praise are often such as, to Protestant ears at least, are not only tainted with the grossest absurdity, but the most revolt ing indelicacy. Take a specimen from two of his most famous sermons ; the one preached on the Fast of tbe Nativity of the Virgin, " Sur les Grandeurs de Marie ;" and the other on the Conception. They both turn much on the same point — one of his most favourite topics — the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin, and of Christ, on which he has many theories, by which he appears to set no little store. " Car permettez moi, 266 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. je vous prie, d'approfondir un si grand mystere, et de vous expliquer une verite qui ne sera pas moins utile pour votre instruction qu'elle sera glorieuse a la Sainte Vierge. Cette verite, Chretiens, ' c'est que notre Sauveur Jesus-Christ ne s'unit jamais a nous par son corps, que dans le dessein de s'unir plus etroitement en esprit. Tables mystiques ! banquet adorable ! et vous saints et sacres autels, je vous appele a temoins de la verite que j'avance, mais soyez en les temoins vous-memes, vous qui participez a ces saints mysteres. Quand vous avez approche de cette table divine; quand vous avez vu venir Jesus-Christ a vous, en Son propre corps, en son propre sang ; quand on vous l'a mis dans la bouche, dites-moi, avez-vous pense qu'il vouloit s'arreter simplement au corps ? A Dieu ne plaise que vous l'ayez cru, et que vous ayez recu seulement au corps celui qui court a vous pour cher- cher votre ame ! ' Ames saints ! knes pieuses ! vous qui savez gouter Jesus-Christ dans cette adorable mystere !'" &c. This constant practice of apostrophizing, borrowed, no doubt, from the Roman school, but adopted with the wonted intemperance of imitators (who, far from being servile followers, as of old, are almost always extravagant caricaturists), is one of the most offensive parts of French oratory, and would destroy the force of a far more powerful species than the Epideictic in which our neighbours have so long revelled, can ever be made, even in the strongest hands. Will it be credited, that the same sort of address which we have seen Bossuet make on behalf of the Duchess of Orleans, five-and-twenty years after she had escaped the perils in question, is made in behalf of the Virgin Mary, seventeen centuries and more after the occasion — a prayer to Christ that, in creating his mother, he would prevent her from being conceived in sin ! " Cheres Freres, que vous en semble ? que pensez vous de cette doctrine? Ne vous paroit-elle pas bien plausible? PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 267 Pour moi, quand je considere le Sauveur Jesus, notre amour et notre esperance, entre les bras de la Sainte Vierge, en sugant son lait virginal, en se reposant doucement sur son sein, ou enclos dans ses chastes entrailles ! — mais je m'arrete a cette derniere pensee !" — it might be supposed, out of regard to the feelings of propriety, and because he had gone quite far enough ; — no such thing ! — only because the other topics belonged to another day — " dans peu de jours nous celebrerons la Nativite du Sauveur ; et nous le considerons k present dans ces entrailles ne sa Sainte Mere ; quand done je regarde Hncomprehensible ainsi renferme, et cette universite comme raccourcie ; quand je vois mon Liberateur dans cette etroite et voluntaire prison, je dis quelquefois k part moi se pourroit-il bien faire que Dieu eut voulu abandonner au diable, quand ce n'auroit eto qu'un moment, ce temple sacre qu'il destinoit k son fils? ce saint tabernacle ou il prendra un si long et si admirable repos; ce lit virginal oil il celebrera des noces toutes spirituelles avec notre nature? C'est ainsi que je me parle k moi-meme. Puis, m'adressant au Sauveur : Enfant Beni, lui dis-je, ne le souffrez pas, ne permettez pas que votre mere soit soufllee ! Ah ! que si Satan l'osoit aborder pendant que demeurant en elle vous y faites un paradis, que de foudres vous feriez tomber sur sa tete ! Avec quelle jalousie vous defendriez l'honneur et l'innocence de votre Mere ! Mais, o Saint Enfant ! par qui les siecles ont ete faits, que vous etes avant tout les temps — quand votre Mere fut congue, vous la regardiez du plus haut des cieux ; mais vous-meme vous formiez ses membres. C'est vous qui inspirates ce souffle de vie qui anima cette chair dont la votre devoit etre tiree. Ah prenez garde, 6 sagesse eternelle ! que dans ce meme moment elle va etre infectee d'un horrible peche, elle va etre en la possession de Satan ! Detournez ce malheur par votre bonte ! commencez k honorer votre Mere ; faites qu'il lui profite d'avoir un fils qui est 268 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. avant elle. Car enfin, k bien prendre les choses, elle est dejk votre Mere, et deja vous etes son fils !"* After pursuing the subject at great length, he observes, that next to the Articles of Faith, he knows no doctrine more attractive or more certain than that of the Immaculate Conception, and therefore is the less surprised that " cette celebre Ecole des Theologiens de Paris oblige tous ses enfans k defendre cette doctrine." This of course brings on an apostrophe, as indeed does the mention of any person or body corporate Avhatever. " Savante compagnie ! cette piete pour la Vierge est peut etre l'un des plus beaux heritages que vous ayiez recu de vos peres ! Puissiez-vous etre a jamais floris- sante ! Puisse cette tendre devotion," &c, &c. " Pour moi, je suis ravi, Chretiens, de suivre aujourd'hui ses intentions. Apres avoir ete nourri de son lait, je me soumets volontiers k ses ordonnances ; d'autant plus que c'est aussi, ce me semble, la volonte de l'Eglise. Elle a un sentiment fort honorable de la conception de Marie ; elle ne vous oblige pas de la croire immaculee ; mais elle nous fait entendre que cette croyance lui est agreable." — " II est de notre piete, si nous sommes vrais enfans de l'Eglise, non seulement d'obeir aux commandemens, mais de flechir aux moindres signes de la volonte, d'une mere si bonne et si sainte." | It is to be remarked that Bossuet, in the character which he gives of Cromwell — the finest passage per haps, in the funeral sermon upon Henrietta Maria — says nothing of his canting and mysterious language ; nor does he, in stigmatizing the sects which then sprung up, join in the abuse lavished upon them for the same excesses. (VI., 69, 74.) How indeed could he, who thus equals at the least in absurdity, the very * now striking is the effect, almost ludicrous, produced in this last sentence, by the French having no poetical language— no diction higher than the tone of common life ! t The first of these Sermons to be found in vol. v., p. 371 ; the second in vol. i., p. 204, of the Choix de Sermons de Bossuet. Paris, 181)8. PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 269 wildest of their ravings? But it would be well for those in this country, who are fond of laughing at the language of the old Covenanters, to point out anything in the choicest remains of their field oratory, which goes beyond the effusions of this court-preacher, the classical prelate whose sermons are deemed among the choicest models of sacred eloquence. The style of Massillon is undoubtedly much more masculine, and formed more in the Greek than the Latin school. As. he flourished somewhat later than Bossuet, and as "the fashion of this world, passeth, away," not merely in secular matters, he is not wont, like the " Eagle of Meaux," to lose himself in the cloudy regions of mystery, but more apt, when he must deal with such subjects, to draw down from them some practical inferences applicable to the concerns of his flock. His panegyrical discourses, though abound ing in the faults of the French manner, offend far less in that luscious sweetness and sickly " onction," which remind us of the descriptions the ancients have left of the Asiatic oratory. If in praising Lotus XIV., but after his death, he could paint him as a husband, " malgre" les foiblesses qui partagerent son coeur, tou jours respectueux pour la vertu de Therese ; condam- nant, pour ainsi dire, par ses egards pour elle, Pinjustice de ses engagemens et renouant par l'estime un lieu affoibli par les passions," he certainly does not spare the reverses of fortune which followed his conquests ; but paints the miseries of war, and the losses sustained by France, with an honesty as rare in court-preachers, as it must have been unpalatable to the people he was addressing. " Mais helas ! triste souvenir de nos vic- toires, que nous rappelez vous ? Monumens superbes eleves au milieu de nos places publiques, pour en im- mortaliser la memoire, que rappeleres-vous k nos neveux, lorsqu'ils vous demanderont, comme autrefois les Israelites, ce que signifient vos masses pompeuses et enormes ? Qjuando interrogaverint vos filii vestri. 270 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. dicentes : Quid sibi volunt isti lapides ? Vous leur rappelerez un siecle entier d'horreurs et de carnage : 1' elite de la Noblesse Francoise precipice dans le tom- beau ; tant de maisons anciennes eteintes ; tant de meres point consolees, qui pleurent encore sur leurs enfans ; nos compagnes desertes, et au lieu des tresors qu'elles renferment dans leur sein, n'offrant plus que des ronces au petit nombre des laboureurs forces de les negliger ; nos villes desolees ; nos peuples epuises ; les arts k la fin sans emulation : le commerce languissant ; vous leur rappelerez nos pertes plutot que nos conquetes ; Quando interrogave- rint? &c. Vous leur rappelerez tant de lieux saints profanes; tant de dissolutions capables d'attirer la colere du ciel sur les plus justes entreprises ; le feu, le sang, le blaspheme, l'abomination ! et toutes les horreurs qu'enfante la guerre : vous leur rappelerez nos crimes plutot que nos victoires ! Quando interro- gaverint?" &c. — {Sermons de Massillon, VII., 238.) This, it must be admitted, is a language far better adapted to the pulpit, and much better to be held, both to princes and their subjects, than the glorious descriptions of war, and the sons of triumph upon the success of their arms, and the shouts of exultation at national superiority, and the thunders and invectives against other countries, with which so many high priests of the religion of peace and charity make the vaults of their temples ring in modern times. It is observable, that this funeral sermon upon Louis XIV. must have been preached at the beginning of the Regency, and probably was delivered in the pre sence of that holy man, the Duke of Orleans ; but no allusion whatever is made to him ; and in the sermon upon his mother's death (when indeed he had ceased to be regent), the most extravagant praise bestowed upon him, is only that he was " le premier exemple d'u'ne minorite pacifique ; le modele des Princes bien- faisans," (ib., 295), which might be said with the most PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 271 perfect truth. After all we are accustomed to hear of the flatteries of French courtiers, and especially French preachers, in the age of Louis XIV., it is somewhat mortifying to find them so far exceeded by our own countrymen of the same day; and not by men only of little mark, unknown in after times, and in their own distinguished merely for their servile propensities, but by the ablest and most gifted of their profession ; as South, who proved before Charles II. that Providence saves and delivers princes, " by endowing them with a more than ordinary sagacity and quickness of understanding above other men — so that they have not only a long reach with their arm, but a farther with their mind — by giving them a singular courage and presence of mind — and by disposing their hearts to such virtuous and pious courses as he has promised a blessing to, and restrain ing them from those ways to which he has denounced a curse ;" beside disposing of events, and of the minds of men in their favour. — {Sermons, III., 410). Voltaire, an unsuspected eulogist of pulpit eloquence, describes the famous passage in the sermon, " Sur les Elus," as one of the finest strokes of eloquence in ancient or modern times, and the figure which forms its basis, as at once the boldest and most happily appropriate ever employed. He gives the passage, but in a manner differing materially from the version of it in the common edition of the Sermons. He says, that there have been several varieties of it in the several editions, but that the substance is the same in all. It is probable, that the bishop may have made the addi tions which certainly enfeeble it, from a desire to improve still further what was so successful ; and that Voltaire may quote from the earliest edition ; but one very remarkable figure is omitted by him, and one piece of reasoning of a kind so truly Demosthenean, that no further proof is wanted of the models upon which Massillon formed his style. We shall give 272 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. Voltaire's, and then add those two passages, and afterwards attempt a translation ; but we shall also note the changes by which the effect has been so much altered, and generally for the worse, in the subsequent versions : — " Je suppose que ce soit ici notre derniere heure a tous ; que les cieux vont s'ouvrir sur nos tetes ; que le temps est passe, et que 1' eternite commence ; que Jesus-Christ va paraitre pour nous juger, selon nos ceuvres, et que nous sommes tous ici pour attendre de lui F arret de la vie ou de la mort eternelle! Je vous le demande, frappe de terreur comme vous, ne separant point mon sort du votre, et me mettant dans la meme situation ou nous devons tous paraitre un jour devant Dieu notre Juge ; si Jesus-Christ, dis-je, paraissait des a present, pour faire la terrible separa tion des justes et des pecheurs, croyez-vous que le plus grand nombre fut sauve? Croyez-vous que le nombre des justes fut au moins egal a celui des pecheurs ? Croyez-vouz que, s'il fesait maintenant la discussion des ceuvres du grand nombre qui est dans cette eglise, il trouvat seulement dix justes parmi nous ? En trouverait-il un seul ? " Nothing can be finer than the conception, nor more perfect than the execution. The language is at once the most simple, and the most expressive ; — the effeot is strikingly grand;— the temperance with which so much is rejected, can only be equalled by the felicity of the selection. The sensation produced is supposed, according to this edition, and by what we can col lect from the narrative of Voltaire, to have been at the awful words, "En trouverait-il un seul?" which seemed as it were to exclude each individual present from all hope of mercy. But, in the later editions, those words are postponed ; and the " discussion des coeurs du grand nombre qui est dans cette eglise," is expanded into an enumeration of four classes of sin ners, who are to be deducted from the congregation ; PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 273 and the preacher proceeds thus: " Retranchez ces quatre sorts de pecheurs de cette assemblee sainte; car ils en seront retrenches au grand jour. Paraissez maintenant, justes ; ¦ ou etes-vous ? Pestes d'lsrael, passez a la droite : froment de Jesus-Christ, demelez- vous de cette paille destinee au feu ! 0 Dieu ! ou sont vos Elus ? et que reste-il pour votre partage ? " And we presume, that the effect is supposed to have been produced here, according to this edition. The preacher then enlarges upon the idea, and weakens it lament ably ; but he closes in a very high strain of reasoning, introducing at last something like the words which conclude the passage in the edition of Voltaire, though so far weakening what went before, that it is a refer ence to the topic, and a repetition of part. " Sommes nous sages, mes chersauditeurs. Peut- etre que parmi tous ceux que m'entendent il ne se trouvera pas dix justes; peut-etre s'en trouvera-t-il encore moins ; que sais-je ? 0 mon Dieu ! Je n'ose regarder d'un ceil fixe les abimes de vos jugemens et de votre justice ; peut-etre ne s'en trouvera-t-il qu'un seul; et ce danger ne vous touche point, mon cher auditeur ? et vous croyez etre ce seul heureux, dans le grand nombre qui perira — vous qui avez moins sujet de le croire que tout autre; vous sur qui seul la sentence de mort devroit tomber, quand elle ne tom- beroit que sur un seul des pecheurs qui m'ecoutent." Now, although this last part is of the highest merit, and equals the closeness of the Greek originals, there can be no doubt that the topic is derived from a very great blemish, namely, a recurrence to the former topic for the purpose of changing and weakening it. Whether we take the edition referred to by Voltaire, or suppose an alteration to have been practised by him in citing it, and that " en trouverait-il un seul?" was not in the original ; at any rate, the same mean ing is conveyed by the figure which he suppresses, the invocation to, the Just, and the exclamation, " 0 Dieu, T 274 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. ou sont vos Elus? et que reste-t-il pour votre par- tage?" — for this supposes that there are none at all; and then the preacher, going back to the enumeration, assumes as the worst that can happen, that possibly there may be but one ! It may also be observed, that the exclamations, " Sommes nous sages," &c- — " 0 mon Dieu!" &c, and " Mes chers auditeurs ! " lower the severe dignity of the style, by lessening that nervous simplicity which gives such grandeur to the former part of the passage. That simplicity, however, is far less remarkable in the later editions, than in that from which we have cited. They introduce, in the middle of the description, an argument of some length — that as the audience now is, so will it be, as to salvation, in death and in judgment — which, in Voltaire's edition, is merely glanced at in a word. Instead of simply making Jesus Christ appear, they make him appear " dans ce temple," and not only there, but " au milieu de cette assemblee ;" and worse still, the assembly is " la plus auguste de l'univers." Instead of that sublime expression, " Que le temps est passe, et que l'eternite commence," they have, " Que c'est la fin de l'univers : " Instead of " 1' arret de la vie, ou de la mort eternelle," they vary the first sub stantive, drop the antithesis, and diffuse the expres sion into " une sentence de grace, ou un arret de mort eternelle ;" and instead of the simple and appro priate language, in which Voltaire's edition makes the preacher identify himself with his flock, without a word to awaken them from the trance, as it were, into which he has flung them, the later versions add to the words, " ne separant pas mon sort du votre," these, " en ce point;" and these, which still more effectually end the delusion, as much as if he had reminded them in so many words that he was preach ing — " me mettant dans la meme disposition, ou je souhaite que vous etiez" — and drop the fine phrase, " paraitre devant Dieu notre juge." These and other PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 275 changes are all very much for the worse. One or two alterations are, perhaps, improvements ; as, " le ter rible discernement des boucs et des brebis ;" for, " la terrible separation des justes et des pecheurs;" and certainly the description is made more lively, and the allusion better pursued, by substituting for the general expression, " Croyez vous que le plus grand nombre fut sauve?" the picturesque one, " Croyez vous que le plus grand nombre, de tout-ce que nous sommes ici, fut place a la droite?" The passage, as we cannot avoid thinking it must have originally stood, may be thus given in English, though with the inferiority which is almost necessarily the lot of a translation, even from a less to a more expressive language : — - " I figure to myself that our last hour is come ; — the heavens are opening over our heads — Time is no more, and Eternity has begun. Jesus Christ is about to appear to judge us, according to our deserts — and we are here awaiting at his hands the sentence of everlasting life or death. I ask you now — stricken with terror like yourselves — in nowise separating my lot from yours, but placing myself in the situation in which we all must one day stand before God, our Judge — If Christ, I ask you, were at this moment to come to make the awful partition of the just and the unjust — think you that the greater number would be saved?* — Do you believe that the numbers would be even equal ? If the fives of the multitude here present were sifted, would he find among us ten righteous ? Would he find a single one ?" If any one examines the rest of this famous sermon, which abounds with the most nervous and brilliant passages, he will find the strongest reason to oonelude, that the great one we have been speaking of was retouched and overdone, after its first extraordinary effect had stamped it with celebrity; for the other * " Think you that the greater number would pass to his right hand?" — (Later Editions.) 276 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. parts are by no means liable to the same objections. Many of them are distinguished by Attic simplicity, and recall to the mind of the classical reader the close and rapid declamation of the greatest orators. " Ou sont ceux qui renoncent de bonne foi aux plaisirs, aux usages, aux maxims, aux esperances du monde ? Tous l'ont promis — qui le tient ? On voit bien des gens qui se plaignent du monde ; qui l'ac- cusent d'injustice, d'ingratitude, de caprice ; qui se dechainent contre lui; qui parlent vivement de ses abus, de ses erreurs ; mais en le decriant ils l'aiment, ils le suivent, ils ne peuvent se passer de lui ; en se plaignant de ses injustices, ils sont piques, ils ne sont pas desabuses ; ils sentent ses mauvais traitemens, ils ne connaissent pas ses dangers ; ils se censurent, mais ou sont ceux qui le haissent ? Et dela, jugez si bien des gens peuvent pretendre au salut. Enfin vous avez dit anatheme a, Satan et a ses ceuvres ; et quelles sont ses ceuvres? Celles qui composent presque le fil, et comme toute la suite de votre vie ; les pompes, les jeux, les plaisirs, les spectacles, le mensonge dont il est le pere, l'orgueil dont il est le modele, les jalousies et les contentions dont il est Partisan. Mais, je demande, oil sont ceux qui n'ont pas leve Panatheme," &c, &c. We have extended this quotation for the purpose of remarking, that it is employed to introduce a long and most vehement invective against all dramatic exhibi tions, and all actors, — which makes Voltaire's unquali fied admiration of the whole discourse a still stronger testimony in its favour. A comparison with Bossuet's frequent sermons on kindred subjects is quite unneces sary to establish Massillon's vast superiority. But whoever would satisfy himself of this, may compare Bossuet's " Sur I 'impenitence finale," with Massillon's on the same subject. It is certainly one of Bossuet's best. There is one magnificent passage worthy of Massillon in conception, and, but for the superfluous exclamations, in execution also, in which the Angel of PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 277 Death is described as retiring, time after time, to give an opportunity for repentance — till at length the order goes forth from on high, Make an end! — "L' Audience est ouverte; le juge est assis: Criminel! venez plaider votre cause. Mais que vous avez peu de temps pour vous preparer ! 0 Dieu, que le temps est court pour demeler une affaire si enveloppe que celles de vos comptes et de votre vie. Ah ! que vous jetterez de cris superflus : Ah ! que vous soupirerez amerement apres tant d'annees perdues ! Vainement, inutilement : il n'y a plus de temps pour vous ; vous entrez au sejour de l'eternite. Voyez qu'il n'y a plus de soleil visible, qui commence et qui finisse les jours, les saisons, les annees. C'est le Seigneur lui-meme qui va commencer de mesurer toute chose par sa propre infinite. Je vous vois etonne et eperdu en presence de votre juge : mais regardez encore vos accusateurs ; ce sont les pauvres qui vont s'elever contre votre durete inexorable." — (Tom. iv., p. 255.) It is very probable that the opening of this splendid passage first suggested to Massillon the idea of that of which so much has been said ; and, in the remainder, we certainly perceive a striking coincidence with the lead ing feature of Mr. Hall's peroration to his beautiful Sermon upon War. Of Massillon's discourse, " Sur l'impenitence finale," the merits are indeed of the highest order. The exordium, in particular, is eminently oratorical; sup posing the audience to have shuddered at the awful words of the text,* and to stand in need of being comforted and supported, rather than awakened and intimidated. But the description of a death-bed, which is much admired, in its most striking circumstances, the picture of the state of the soul, immediately on quitting the body (Tom. ii., p. 169), falls short of the effect produced by a few simple and most picturesque * "I go my way, and ye shall seek me, and shall die in your sins : whither I go, ye cannot come."— John viii. 21. 278 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. expressions on the same subject, in the Sermon upon Death. "Vous ignorez ce que vous serez dans cette autre terre, ou les conditions ne changent plus ; entre les mains de qui tombera votre ame, seule, etrangere, tremblante, au sortir du corps." What follows is much more ambitious, but less striking, though by no means unsuccessful. " Si elle sera environee de lumiere et portee aux pieds du Trone sur les ailes des Esprits bien-heureux, ou enveloppee d'un nuage affreux, et precipitee dans les abimes." — (Tom. iii., 410). The funeral sermon of this great orator on the death of Louis XIV. is well known. Certainly there never was in the history of rhetoric, a more striking passage than its commencement; and we can easily credit all the traditional accounts of its prodigious effects. The congregation, composed of the court and of the people, were assembled in the Sainte-Chapelle of Paris ; prince after prince of the royal family had died in the course of , a short time ; the almost only survivor, now the infant king, stricken with a grave malady, was all but given over ; the general sorrow, anxiety, and alarm, seemed at its height; when the late monarch's, Louis-le-Grand's, remains, slowly borne through the aisle, were placed in the centre of the chapel, — and Massillon pronounced the memorable words which thrilled every bosom, — " Dieu seul est grand, mes freres." When we consider the absolute simplicity and perfect conciseness of the language; the entire appropriateness of the idea — quite natural, not quite obvious — so that though it might not have occurred to any, yet it must, when presented, have made every one marvel that it had not — above all, its awful effect in bringing the whole scene into the Divine presence — we must confess, without hesitation, that there is not to be found in any merely human composition, a more genuine example of the sublime. It differs from all, or almost all other instances, in this, that there is a reality in the passage — the thing PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 279 is acted, not described. The famous oath of Demos thenes, Ma rout; si> Mapadiovi KivSvvsvcrKvrag tov irpoyovwv ! approaches this reality, but falls short of it. Cicero's appeal to Tubero, " nimis urgeo — com- moveri videtur adolescens" {Pro Ligurio), was touch ing ; it was exquisitely skilful, but had nothing awful. The " haud ducum in crucem tolli" {In Var.) had no reality. Nor must it be forgotten, that the perfect appropriateness to the occasion; the completely natural character of the allusion, precluded the possibility of the objection that it was acting. Acting, that is dramatic, it was in the highest degree ; and Baron, the great tragedian, who went to hear the preacher, as so many preachers had gone in disguise to take a lesson from him,* when he said, " Here is a true orator ; we are but actors," might, had he been present at the funeral sermon, have added to his praise, that the great orator was also a great dram atist, f To sustain the opening of the discourse was mani festly impossible; indeed it ought, for full effect, to have ended with the four words. But as that was equally impossible, — nay, would have been reckoned a stage trick — Massillon proceeds, and as far as it was possible avoids sinking — at least, he most artistly so contrives both the sense and the diction as to break his fall. He probably made a long pause after " Dieu seul est grand, mes freres," and then he adds : " Et dans ces derniers momens surtout, oil il preside a la mort des rois de la terre; plus leur gloire et leur * The great preachers used to attend the theatre when Baron acted, in a grilled box. He had quitted the stage for some years before 1715, but afterwards returned to it in his old age, and was as- successful as ever. f Cardinal Maury, in his Essai sur VEloquence de la Chaire, has given a description, apparently with some fanciful exaggeration, of the manner in which the great passage was pronounced. One part is probably given accurately enough; that the preacher first read with great >olj:nnity the impressive text fnom Solomon, " I was king over Israel, ai d behold all is vanity and vexation of spirit," and then remained for a few seconds in profound silence before he began, " Dieu seul est grand ! " 280 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. puissance ont eclate, plus, en s'evanouissant alors, elles rendent hommage a sa grandeur supreme : Dieu parent tout ce qu'il est; et l'homme n'est plus rien de tout ce qu'il croyoit etre : " a passage which must have commanded admiration, had it stood alone, and apart from the extraordinary beginning, unavoidably impaired by it, as it must needs have been by any thing that any one could add, speaking with the tongues of men and of angels. * In sermons professedly of the Panegyrical kind, the orator must needs fall into the two vices more or less inseparable from this species of eloquence — flatter ing, and speaking for the mere sake of display. The latter, indeed, seems to have been regarded as an excellence by the great master of Epideictic Rhetoric ; for he says, that in his judgment those " are the finest orations which handle the greatest topics, benefit the audience most, and best show off the speakers." [roue ts Xsyovrag paXiGTa E7ri§EtKot>o-i.] (Isocrates.) Mas sillon's panegyrics partake accordingly of these defects, though in a far less degree than Bossuet's ; who does not confine to his funeral orations, the introduction of allusions, and direct addresses to the great ones of the earth, but hardly ever suffers an occasion to pass, when he is preaching before princes, of turning to them and making them parts of speech. " Grand Roi ! qui sur- passez de si loin tant d'augustes predecesseurs," &c. After recounting his earthly glories, indeed, he makes a very fine application. "Ne voyez vous pas ce feu de- * The great force of the opening has made the rest of the sermon be over looked ; but it abounds with the greatest beauties. One remarkable passage is fit to be remembered, in which the wars of Louis XIV. are blamed. In fact, the patron of Massillon, who made him bishop, the Regent Orleans, was, happily for France and for Europe, also the patron of peace. But Louis' parting advice to his infant successor is in all probability given with accuracy, and it well deserves our attention : — " Mon fils, vous allez etre un grand roi ; mais souvenez-vous qui tout votre bonheur dependra d'etre soumis a Dieu et du soin que vous aurez de soulager vos peuples. Evitez la guerre j ne souvez pas li-dessus nieis exemples ; soyez un prince pacifique et soulagez vos sujets." PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 281 vorant qui precede la face du Juge terrible, qui abolira, en un meme jour, et les villes, et les forteresses et les citadelles, et les palais, et les maisons de plaisance, et les arsenaux, et les marbres, et les inscriptions, et les titres, et les histoires, et ne fera qu'un grand feu, et peu apres qu'un amas de cendre, de tous les monu- mens des Rois? Peut-on s'imaginer de la grandeur en ce qui ne sera un jour que de la poussiere ? II faut remplir d'autres faites et d'autres annales." — (Tom. i., p. 158.) In preaching upon the day of judgment before the court, he dwells on the havoc which will then be made among titles and ranks ; and very properly exclaims, " God grant that so many grandees who are now listening to me, may not lose their precedence on that day!" But he straightway turns to the King (Tom. iii., p. 497), " Que cet Auguste Monarque ne voie jamais tomber sa couronne! qu'il soit aupres de Saint Louis, qui lui tend ses bras, et qui lui montre sa place ! 0 Dieu, que cette place ne soit point vacante!" Then comes a prayer for his temporal glory, and a curse on all who desire it not. But, the Prelate goes on, " Sire ! je trahis votre Majeste si je borne mes souhaits pour vous dans cette vie perissable. Vivez done heureux, fortune, vic- torieux de vos ennemis. Pere de vos peuples ! — mais vivez toujours bon et juste ; " and so he wishes him a heavenly crown, " Au nom du Pere, et du Fils, et du Saint Esprit!" Between Massillon and Bossuet, and at a great distance certainly above the latter, stands Bourda- loue, whom some have deemed Massillon's superior, but of whom an illustrious critic has more justly said that it was his greatest glory to have left the suprem acy of Massillon still in dispute. * In the vigour and urgency of his reasonings, he was undeniably, after the ancients, Massillon's model: and if he is more * D'Alembert — Eloge de Massillon. 282' PULPIT ELOQUENCE. harsh, and addresses himself less to the feelings and the passions, it is certain that he displays a fertility of resources, an exuberance of topics, whether for observation or argument, not equalled by almost any other orator, sacred or profane. It is this fertility,, the true mark of genius, that makes us certain of finding in every subject handled by him, something new, something which neither his predecessors had anticipated, nor even his followers have imitated, so far as to deprive, if not his substance, at least his manner of the charm of originality. It is another mark of genius, and one akin to this exuberance, and generally seen in its company, that though his lan guage be, for a French orator, somewhat rough, and his composition not always diligently elaborated, his style abounds in point, and in felicitous turns of ex pression. " Quand je parle de l'hypocrisie, ne pensez pas que je la borne a cette espeee particuliere qui consist© dans l'abus de la piete, et qui fait les faux devots. Je la prends dans un sens plus etendu, et d'autant plus utile a votre instruction, que, peut-etre, malgre vous-memes, serez-vous obliges d'avouer que c'est un vice qui ne vous est que trop commun. Car j'appelle hypocrite, quiconque, sous de specieuses apparences, a le secret de cacher les desordres d'une vie criminelle. Or, en ce sens, on ne peut douter que l'hypocrisie ne soit repandue dans toutes les conditions ; et que parmi les mondains, il ne se trouve encore bien plus d'im- posteurs et d'hypocrites, que parmi ceux que nous nommons devots. En effet, combien dans le monde de scelerats travestis en gens d'honneur? Combien d'hommes corrumpus et pleins d'iniquite, qui se pro^- duisent avec tout le faste et toute l'ostentation de la prohibite ? Combien de fourbes, insolens a, vanter leur sincerite ? Combien de traitres, habiles a sauver les dehors de la fidelite et de Pamitie? Combien de sensuels, esclaves des passions les plus infames, en PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 283 possession d'affecter la purete des mceurs, et de la pousser jusqu'a la severite ? Combien de femmes libertines, fieres sur le chapitre de leur reputation, et quoique engagees dans un commerce honteux, ayant le talent de s'attirer toute l'estime d'une exacte et d'une parfaite regularite ? Au contraire, combien de justes, faussement accuses et condamnes ? Combien de serviteurs de Dieu, par la malignite du siecle, decries et calomnies ? Combien de devots de bonne foi, traites d'hypocrites, d'intriguans, et d'mteresses ? Combien de vraies vertus confesses ? Combien de bonnes ceuvres censurees? Combien d'intentions droites mal expliquees, et combien de saintes actions empoisonees ?" —(Tom. i., p. 531. Ed. 8vo, 1818.) Although the other passions are seldom addressed by this great orator, yet does he not unfrequently appeal to the terrors of his audience, and with the greatest effect set before them some unexpected ground of alarm. Thus, in his Sermons upon the Universal Judgment, he pronounces that the Saviour is to be the Judge, for the purpose of rendering it more rigorous and dreadful. " II paroit etrange, et il semble d'abord que ce soit un paradoxe, de dire que nous devons etr& juges avec moins d'indulgenee, parce que c'est un Dieu Sauveur qui nous jugera. Nous comprenons sans peine la parole de Saint Paul, ' Qu'il est terrible de tomber dans les mains du Dieu vivantl' Mais qu'il soit en quelqne sorte, plus terrible de tomber dans les mains d'un Dieu Mediateur, d'un Dieu qui nous a aimes, jusqu'a se faire la victime de notre salut ; voila ce qui nous etonne, et ce qui renverse toutes nos idees. Cette verite, neanmoins, est une des plus constantes et des plus solidement etablies. Comment? C'est apres avoir abuse des merites d'un Dieu Sauveur, et profane son sang precieux, le pecheur en sera plus criminel ; et qu'une bonte negligee, offensee, outragee, devient le sujet de 1'indignation la plus vive, et de la plus ardente coiere. Job disait a Dieu, ' Ah ! Seigneur, vous etes 284 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. change pour moi dans un Dieu cruel. Funeste changement, qu'eprouveront tant de libertins et de pecheurs, de la part de ce Dicu-Homme, qu'ils auront les uns meconnu en renoncant k la foi, les autres meprise et deshonore par la transgression de la loi! Ce qui devait leur donner un acces plus facile aupres de lui, et leur faire trouver grace, je veux dire les abaissemens, et les travaux de son humanity, sa pas sion, sa mort, c'est par un effet tout contraire, ce qui Paigrira, ce qui Pirritera, ce qui lui fera lancer sur eux les plus severes arrets, et les anathemes les plus foudroyans. — Juge d'autant plus inexorable, qu'il aura £te Sauveur plus misericordieux. Aussi est-il remarqu- able dans Pecriture, qu'k ce dernier jour, qui sera son jour, il nous est represents comme un agneau, mais un agneau en fureur, qui repand de tous cotes la desola tion et l'effroi. Telle est l'affreuse peinture que nous en fait le disciple bien aime, Saint Jean, lorsqu'annoncant par avance le dernier jugement de Dieu, dont il avait eu une vue anticipee, et le decrivant, il dit que les rois, les princes, les potentats de la terre, les conquerans, les riches, que tous les hommes, soit fibres, soit esclaves, saisis d'epouvante, et consternes, allerent se cacher dans les cavernes et dans les rochers des montagnes, et qu'ils s'ecrierent — 'Montagnes et rochers, tombez sur nous et derobez-nous a la colere de V Agneau ; car le grand jour de sa colere est arrive, et qui peut soutenir ses regards ?' "—(Tom. xvii., p. 36.) "• We have seen above the extravagances into which Bossuet was betrayed in treating of the Mysteries; and the sins which he committed, against common sense and delicacy, as well as correct taste, in dwelling upon their details. Much of this fault was that of the age ; but Bourdaloue, his contemporary, is nearly free from it — his moderation, his logical head, and his chastened taste, keep him above it. When, upon the appointed feast of the church, he must preach upon the Immaculate Conception, he sets forth the doctrine PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 285 in a few words; supports it by a reference to St. Augustin, who very peremptorily says; that upon this point he will not have any question raised {nullam prorsus haberi volo qucestionem), and to the Council of Trent, which, though less dogmatically, excepts the Blessed Virgin from its decree touching Original Sin ; and then he hastens to draw from the position its practical inferences in favour of grace, and purity of fife, as illustrated by the grace and life of Mary. (Tom xii., p. 1, et seq.) His three sermons upon the Purification are almost equally free from extrava gance and indelicacy ; and nearly altogether devoted to the practical lesson of obedience, derived, by no strained process of reason, from the consideration of the Mystery. The third closes with a peculiar applica tion to the monarch in whose presence it was delivered, and whom the preacher will by no means exempt from the same duty, though he lavishly praises his Majesty for his piety, which he seems to represent as something gratuitous in so puissant a sovereign. However, as Louis was fortunately so very obedient to the Divine will, the preacher draws a somewhat novel inference from hence, and makes, it should seem, a practical application to a quarter, very unexpectedly addressed even in a sermon before the King. " II est, si j'ose le dire, de l'interet et de l'honneur de Dieu, de maintenir votre Majeste dans ce meme lustre qui lui attire les regards du monde entier, puisque plus vous serez grand, plus Dieu tirerai de gloire des hommages que vous lui rendez ! II aura, Sire, dans votre personne royal, aussi bien que dans la personne de David, un roi selon son coeur, fidele k sa loi, zele pour sa loi, protecteur et vengeur de sa loi." (Tom. xii., p. 244.) It is only fair to mention, that however Bourdaloue may have been occasionally seduced into such absurd time-serving conduct, by the influence of the courtly atmosphere he moved in, his independence, generally speaking, was exemplary. Not only did he, in the 286 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. most plain and unwelcome language, denounce the vices of the age to those who chiefly practised them — "frappant" (as Mad. de Sevigne said) "comme un sourd, disant des verites k bride abattue — parlant k tort et k travers, contre I'adultere — sauve qui pent — allant toujours son chemin." Not only did he openly, and in the King's presence, rebuke men for the very conduct notoriously pursued by the King himself; but, in private, he risked the monarch's displeasure, by being instant with him, in season and out of season, upon the most delicate points of his life and conversa tion. Bossuet, it is true, when transported with the heat of controversy, which in him raged uncontrolled, had attacked too loudly the mild and amiable Fenelon in the king's presence, and was asked by Louis, what he would have said, if he had taken Fenelon's part ? — was carried on by the same hot fit to give his Majesty an admirable answer — " I should have roared ten times as loud." But this was inferior to Bourdaloue's calm and witty rebuke, when the King, bragging that he had sent Mad. de Montespan to Clagny, said, " Mon Pere, vous devez e'tre content de moi — Elle est a Clagny." — " Oui, Sire ; mais Dieu serait plus satisfait, si Clagny etait k soixante-dix lieues de Versailles." It must not be forgotten, in comparing together these two great preachers, that Bourdaloue was the first in point of time, and therefore had effected the reformation of the eloquence of the French pulpit before Massillon began his career. Bossuet, indeed, had begun a few years before him ; but his discourses are confessedly inferior, and are besides extremely imperfect, and, except his panegyrics, rather the heads from which he spoke, than complete sermons. Hence, Voltaire calls Bourdaloue the first model of good preachers in Europe, by which he plainly means the first in point of time, and not of excellence ; for it is certain, that he greatly preferred Massillon to all others. PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 287 We should now proceed to the great English models ; but the subject is too extensive and too interesting to be handled in the close of this paper, and demands a separate discussion. It may be proper, however, to note the great excellence of some, especially in later times, as showing that our preachers have certainly not degenerated ; if, indeed, they have not surpassed those of a former age in all that constitutes eloquence. No one can call in question the power of Barrow, the cogency and originality of whose argumentation, spun out though it be, yet never enfeebled by its copiousness, is such as might be expected from the profound and inventive mathematician, surpassed only by Newton; nor are the boldness and the fancy, the endless variety and unexpected sallies of Taylor, to be matched by •other divines, any more than they are to be ventured upon by such as duly regard the severe taste which the solemnity of the occasion prescribes ; nor can the ingenuity, the subtlety, the brilliancy of South, though too exuberant in point, and drawing away the atten tion from the subject to the epigrammatic diction, be regarded otherwise than as proofs of the highest order of intellect. But eloquence, to produce its effect upon the feelings of others, must plainly appear to proceed from the feelings of the orator; his feelings must occupy them while his words arrest their attention; and he fails signally if he does not conceal the art by which his workmanship has been produced. If this is true of all oratory, emphatically must it be true of his whose vocation is to deliver a message from the Deity, and to rouse or persuade a conscience with the topics of his revealed Word. Fine-spun reasoning, far-fetched illustration, any the least deviation from seriousness, anything at all casting a doubt upon the earnestness of the speaker, were it only the too apparent artifice of his diction, is most anxiously to be shunned. We shall not give an example of eminently successful 288 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. oratory, in strict accordance with this rule, from the sermons of Dean Kirwan or Augustus Hare, finished models as they are, and the former at least unparalleled in their effects ; but from Robert Hall's, one of whose discourses is named at the head of this article. The two first passages we select because they are upon the most trite of all subjects, the horrors of war, and yet must at once be allowed to treat it in a manner unusual, but perfectly natural : — " The contemplation of such scenes as these forces upon us this awful reflection, that neither the fury of wild beasts, the concussions of the earth, nor the violence of tempests, are to be compared to the ravages of arms; and that nature in Pier utmost extent, or more properly, Divine justice in its utmost severity, has supplied no enemy to man so terrible as man." After showing how its effects extend to every pursuit and interest concerning nations : — " The plague of a widely-extended war possesses, in fact, a sort of omni presence by which it makes itself everywhere felt ; for while it gives up myriads to slaughter in one part of the globe, it is busily employed in scattering over countries exempt from its immediate desolations, the seeds of famine, pestilence, and death." — {Sermon — Thanksgiving at the end of the War. June, 1802.) After painting in the strongest colours the enormi ties of the French Revolution, when it had degenerated into the reign of terror, he proceeds : — " When He to whom vengeance belongs, when He whose ways are unsearchable, and whose wisdom is inexhaustible, pro ceeded to the execution of this strange work, he drew from his treasures a weapon he had never employed before. Resolving to make their punishment as signal as their crimes, he neither let loose an inundation of barbarous nations, nor the desolating powers of the universe : he neither overwhelmed them with earthquakes, nor visited them with pestilence. He summoned from among themselves a ferocity more terrible than either; a ferocity which, mingling in the struggle for liberty, and bor rowing aid from that very refinement to which it seemed to be PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 289 opposed, turned every man's hand against his neighbour, sparing no age, nor sex, nor rank, till, satiated with the ruin of great ness, the distresses of innocence, and the tears of beauty, it ter minated its career in the most unrelenting despotism." The' conclusion of this sermon is also very striking : — '' Happy are they whose lives correspond to these benevolent intentions ; who, looking beyond the transitory distinctions which prevail here, and will vanish at the first approach of eternity, honour God in his children, and Christ in his image. How much, on the contrary, are those to be pitied, in whatever sphere they move, who live to themselves, unmindful of the coming of their Lord ! When he shall come and shall not keep silence, when a fire shall devour before him, and it shall, be very tempestuous round about him, everything, it is true, will combine to fill them with consternation ; yet methinks. neither the voice of the archangel, nor the trump of God, nor the dissolution of the elements, nor the face of the Judge itself, from which the heavens will flee away, will be so dismaying and terrible to these men as the sight of the poor members of Christ : whom having spurned and neglected in the days of their humiliation, they will then behold with amazement united to their Lord, covered with his glory, and seated on his throne. How will they be astonished to see them surrounded with so much majesty ! How will they cast down their eyes in their presence ! How will they curse that gold which will then eat their flesh as with fire, and that avarice, that indolence, that voluptuousness, which will entitle them to so much misery ! You will then, leara that the imita tion of Christ is the only wisdom ; you will then be convinced it is better to be endeared to the cottage than admired in the palace ; when to have wiped away the tears of the afflicted, and mherited the prayers of the widow and the fatherless, shall be found a richer patrimony than the favour of princes." The last passage which we shall give is the cele brated peroration of the sermon on the breaking out of the war, preached at the general fast, 19th October, 1803. Of this Mr. Pitt expressed the greatest ad miration : — " While you have everything to fear from the success of the enemy, you have every means of preventing that success, so that it is next to impossible for victory not to crown your exertions. The extent of your resources, under God, is equal to the justice of your cause. But should Providence determine otherwise, u 290 PULPIT ELOQUENCE. should you fall in this struggle, should the nation fall, you will have the satisfaction (the purest allotted to man) of having per formed your part ; your names will be enrolled with the moat illustrious dead, while posterity, to the end of time, as often as they revolve the events of this period (and they will incessantly revolve them), will turn to you a, reverential eye, while they mourn over the freedom which is entombed in your sepulchre. I cannot but imagine the virtuous heroes, legislators, and patriots, of every age and country, are bending from their elevated seats to witness this contest, as if they were incapable, till it be brought to a favourable issue, of enjoying their eternal repose. Enjoy that repose, illustrious immortals ! Your mantle fell when you ascended ; and thousands, inflamed with your spirit, and impatient to tread in your steps, are ready to swear by Him that sitteth upon the throne, and liveth for ever and ever, they will protect freedom in her last asylum, and never desert that cause which you sustained by your labours, and cemented with your blood. And thou, sole Kuler among the children of men, to whom the shields of the earth belong, gird on thy sword, thou Most Mighty : go forth with our hosts in the day of battle ! Impart, in addition to their hereditary valour, that confidence of success which springs from thy presence ! Pour into their hearts the spirit of departed heroes ! Inspire them with thine own ; and, while led by thine hand, and fighting under thy banners, open thou their eyes to behold in every valley and in every plain, what the prophet beheld by the same illumination — chariots of fire, and horses of fire ! Then shall the strong man be as tow, and the maker of it as a spark : and they shall both burn together, and none shall quench them." DISCOTJKSE OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND PLEASURES SCIENCE. DISCOURSE ON SCIENCE. INTRODUCTION. In order fully to understand the advantages and the pleasures which are derived from an acquaintance with any Science, it is necessary to become acquainted with that Science ; and it would therefore be impossible to convey a complete knowledge of the benefits conferred by a study of the various Sciences which have hitherto been cultivated by philosophers, without teaching all the branches of them. But a very distinct idea may be given of those benefits, by explaining the nature and objects of the different Sciences : it may be shown, by examples, how much use and gratification there is in learning a part of any one branch of knowledge ; and it may thence be inferred, how great reason there is to learn the whole. It may easily be demonstrated, that there is an advantage in learning, both for the usefulness and the pleasure of it. There is something positively agreeable to all men, to all at least whose nature is not most grovelling and base, in gaining knowledge for its own sake. When you see anything for the first time, you at once derive some gratification from the sight being new; your attention is awakened, and you desire to know more about it. If it is a piece of workmanship, as an instrument, a machine of any kind, you wish to know how it is made ; how it works ; and what use it is of. If it is an animal, you desire to know where it comes from; how it lives; what are its dispositions, 294 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, ANO and, generally, its nature and habits. You feel this desire, too, without at all considering that the machine or the animal may ever be of the least use to yourself practically ; for, in all probability, you may never see them again. But you have a curiosity to learn all about them, because they are new and unknown. Vou accordingly make inquiries ; you feel a gratification in getting answers to your questions, that is, in receiving information, and in knowing more, — -in being better informed than you were before. If you happen again to see the same instrument or animal, you find it agreeable to recollect having seen it formerly, and to think that you know something about it. If you see another instrument or animal, in some respects like, but differing in other particulars, you find it pleasing to compare them together, and to note in what they agree, and in what they differ. Now, all this kind of gratification is of a pure and disinterested nature, and has no reference to any of the common purposes of life ; yet it is a pleasure — an enjoyment. You are nothing the richer for it; you do not gratify your palate or any other bodily appetite ; and yet it is so pleasing, that you would give something out of your pocket to obtain it, and would forego some bodily enjoyment for its sake. The pleasure derived from Science is exactly of the like nature, or, rather, it is the very same. For what has just been spoken of is, in fact, Science, which in its most comprehensive sense only means Knoivledge, and in its ordinary sense means Knowledge reduced to a System; that is, arranged in a regular order, so as to be conveniently taught, easily remembered, and readily applied. The practical uses of any science or branch of know ledge are undoubtedly of the highest importance ; and there is hardly any man who may not gain some positive advantage in his worldly wealth and comforts, by in creasing his stock of information. But there is also a pleasure in seeing the uses to which knowledge may be PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 295 applied, wholly independent of the share we ourselves may have in those practical benefits. It is pleasing to examine the nature of a new instrument, or the habits of an unknown animal, without considering whether or not they may ever be of use to ourselves or to any body. It is another gratification to extend our in quiries, and find that the instrument or animal is useful to man, even although we have no chance of ever benefiting by the information: as, to find that the natives of some distant country employ the animal in travelling ; — nay, though we have no desire of bene fiting by the knowledge ; as, for example, to find that the instrument is useful in performing some dangerous, surgical operation. The mere gratification of curiosity ; the knowing more to-day than we knew yesterday; the understanding clearly what before seemed obscure and puzzhng ; the contemplation of general truths, and the comparing together of different things, — -is an agreeable occupation of the mind ; and, beside the present enjoyment, elevates the faculties above low pursuits, purifies and refines the passions, and helps our reason to assuage their violence. It is very true, that the fundamental lessons of philo sophy may to many, at first sight, wear a forbidding aspect, because to comprehend them requires an effort of the mind somewhat, though certainly not much, greater than is wanted for understanding more ordi nary matters; and the most important branches of philosophy, those which are of the most general appli cation, are for that very reason the less easily followed, and the less entertaining when apprehended, presenting as they do few particulars or individual objects to the mind. In discoursing of them, moreover, no figures will be at present used to assist the imagination ; the appeal is made to reason, without help from the senses. But be not, therefore, prejudiced against the doctrine, that the pleasure of learning the, truths which philo sophy unfolds is truly above all price. Lend but a 296 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND patient attention to the principles explained, and giving us credit for stating nothing which has not some prac tical use belonging to it, or some important doctrine connected with it, you will soon perceive the value of the lessons you are learning, and begin to interest yourselves in comprehending and recollecting them ; you will find that you have actually learnt something of science, while merely engaged in seeing what its end and purpose is-; you will be enabled to calculate for yourselves, how far it is worth the trouble of acquiring, by examining samples of it ; you will, as it were, taste a little, to try whether or not you relish it, and ought to seek after more ; you will enable your selves to go on, and enlarge your stock of it; and after having first mastered a very little, you will pro ceed so far as to look back with wonder at the distance you have reached beyond your earliest acquirements. The Sciences may be divided into three great classes: those which relate to Number and Quantity — those which relate to Matter— and those which relate to Mind. The first are called the Mathematics, and teach the property of numbers and of figures; the second are called Natural Philosophy, and teach the properties of the various bodies which we are ac quainted with by means of our senses ; the third are called Intellectual or Moral Philosophy, and teach the nature of the mind, of the existence of which we have the most perfect evidence in our own reflections ; or, in other words, they teach the moral nature of man, both as an individual and as a member of society. Connected with all the sciences, and subservient to them, though not one of their number, is History, or the record of facts relating to all kinds of knowledge. I. MATHEMATICAL SCIENCE. The two great branches of the Mathematics, or the two mathematical sciences, are Arithmetic, the science PLEASURES OP SCIENCE. 297 of number, from the Greek word signifying number, and Geometry, the science of figure, from the Greek words signifying measure of the earth — land-measuring having first turned men's attention to it. When we say that 2 and 2 make 4, we state an arithmetical proposition, very simple indeed, but con nected with many others of a more difficult and complicated kind. Thus, it is another proposition, somewhat less simple, but still very obvious, that 5 multiplied by 10, and divided by 2, is equal to, or makes the same number with, 100 divided by 4 — both results being equal to 25. So, to find how many farthings there are in £1000, and how many minutes in a year, are questions of arithmetic which we learn to work by being taught the principles of the science one after another, or, as they are commonly called, the rules of addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. Arithmetic may be said to be the most simple, though among the most useful of the sciences ; but it teaches only the properties of particular and known numbers, and it only enables us to add, sub tract, multiply, and divide those numbers. But suppose we wish to add, subtract, multiply, or divide numbers which we have not yet ascertained, and in all respects to deal with them as if they were known, for the pur pose of arriving at certain conclusions respecting them, and, among other things, of discovering what they are ; or, suppose we would examine properties belong ing to all numbers ; this must be performed by a pecu liar kind of arithmetic, called Universal arithmetic, or Algebra.* The common arithmetic, you will presently perceive, carries the seeds of this most important science in its bosom. Thus, suppose we inquire what is the number which multiplied by 5 makes 10 ? This is found if we divide 10 by 5, — it is 2 ; but suppose that, before finding this number 2, and before knowing * Algebra, from the Arabic words signifying the reduction effractions; the Arabs having brought the knowledge of it into Europe. 298 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND what it is, we would add it, whatever it may turn out, to some other number ; this can only be done by putting some mark, such as a letter of the alphabet, to stand for the unknown number, and adding that letter as if it were a known number. Thus, suppose we want to find two numbers which, added together, make 9, and, multiplied by one another, make 20. There are many which, added together, make 9 ; as 1 and 8 ; 2 and 7 ; 3 and 6 ; and so on. We have, therefore, occasion to use the second condition, that multiplied by one another they should make 20, and to work upon this condition before we have discovered the particular numbers. We must, therefore, suppose the numbers to be found, and put letters for them, and by reasoning upon those letters, according to both the two conditions of adding and multiplying, we find what they must each of them be in figures, in order to fulfil or answer the conditions. Algebra teaches the rules for conduct ing this reasoning, and obtaining this result successfully; and by means of it we are enabled to find out numbers which are unknown, and of which we only know that they stand in certain relations to known numbers, or to one another. The instance now taken is an easy one ; and you could, by considering the question a little, answer it readily enough ; that is, by trying different numbers, and seeing which suited the conditions ; for you plainly see that 5 and 4 are the two numbers sought ; but you see this by no certain or general rule applicable to all cases, and therefore you could never work more difficult questions in the same way; and even questions of a moderate degree of difficulty would take an endless number of trials or guesses to answer. Thus a shepherd sold his flock for £80 ; and if he had sold four sheep more for the same money, he would have received one pound less for each sheep. To find out from this, how many the flock consisted of, is a very easy question in algebra, but would require a vast many guesses, and a long time to bit upon by common PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 299 arithmetic :* and questions infinitely more difficult can easily be solved by the rules of algebra. In like manner, by arithmetic you can tell the properties of particular numbers ; as, for instance, that the number 348 is divided by 3 exactly, so as to leave nothing over : but algebra teaches us that it is only one of an infinite variety of numbers, all divisible by 3, and any one of which you can tell the moment you see it ; for they all have the remarkable property, that if you add together the figures they consist of, the sum total is divisible by 3. You can easily perceive this in any one case, as in the number mentioned, for 3 added to 4 and that to 8 make 15, which is plainly divisible by 3 ; and if you divide 348 by 3, you find the quotient to be 116, with nothing over. But this does not at all prove that any other number, the sum of whose figures is divisible by 3, will itself also be found divisible by 3, as 741 ; for you must actually perform the division here, and in every other case, before you can know that it leaves nothing over. Algebra, on the contrary, both enables you to discover such general properties, and to prove them in all their generality.! By means of this science, and its various applica tions, the most extraordinary calculations may be per formed. We shall give, as an example, the method of Logarithms, which proceeds upon this principle. Take a set of numbers going on by equal differences ; that is to say, the third being as much greater than the second, as the second is greater than the first, and the * It is 16. f Another class of numbers divisible by 3 is discovered in like manner by algebra. Every number of 3 places, the figures (or digits) composing which are in arithmetical progression (or rise above each other by equal differences), is divisible by 3 : as 123, 789, 357, 159, and so on. The same is true of numbers of any amount of places, provided they are com posed of 3 6, 9, &c, numbers rising above each other by equal differences, as 289, 299, 309, or 148, 214, 280, or 307142085345648276198756, which number of 24 places is divisible by 3, being composed of 6 numbers in a series, whose common difference is 1137. This property, too, is only a particular case of a much more general one. 300 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND common difference being the number you begin with ; thus, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and so on, in which the common difference is 1 ; then take another set of numbers, such that each is equal to twice or three times the one before it, or any number of times the one before it, but the common multiplier being the number you begin with : thus, 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, 64, 128 ; write this second set of numbers under the first, or side by side, so that the numbers shall stand opposite to one another, thus, 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 2 4 8 16 32 64 128 you will find, that if you add together any two of the upper or first set, and go to the number opposite their sum, in the lower or second set, you will have in this last set the number arising from multiplying together the numbers of the lower set corresponding or oppo site to the numbers added together. Thus, add 2 to 4, you have 6 in the upper set, opposite to which in the lower set is 64, and multiplying the numbers 4 and 16 opposite to 2 and 4, the product is 64. In like manner, if you subtract one of the upper numbers from another, and opposite to their difference in the upper line, you look to the lower number, it is the quotient found from dividing one of the lower numbers by the other opposite the subtracted ones. Thus, take 4 from 6 and 2 remains, opposite to which you have in the lower line 4 ; and if you divide 64, the number oppo site to 6, by 16, the number opposite to 4, the quotient is 4. The upper set are called the logarithms, of the lower set, which are called natural numbers; and tables may, with a little trouble, be constructed, giving the logarithms of all numbers from 1 to 10,000 and more : so that, instead of multiplying or dividing one number by another, you have only to add or subtract their logarithms, and then you at once find the pro duct or the quotient in the tables. These are made PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 301 applicable to numbers far higher than any actually in them, by a very simple process : so that you may at once perceive the prodigious saving of time and labour which is thus made. If you had, for instance, to multiply 7,543,283 by itself, and that product again by the original number, you would have to multiply a number of 7 places of figures by an equally large number, and then a number of 14 places of figures by one of 7 places, till at last you had a product of 21 places of figures — a very tedious operation ; but, work ing by logarithms, you would only have to take three times the logarithm of the original number, and that gives the logarithm of the last product of 21 places of figures, without any further multiplication. So much for the time and trouble saved, which is still greater in questions of division ; but by means of logarithms many questions can be worked, and of the most important kind, which no time or labour would other wise enable us to resolve. Geometry teaches the properties of figure, or par ticular portions of space, and distances of points from each other. Thus when you see a triangle, or three- sided figure, one of whose sides is perpendicular to another side, you find, by means of geometrical reason ing respecting this kind of triangle, that if squares be drawn on its three sides, the large square upon the slanting side opposite the two perpendiculars, is ex actly equal to the smaller squares upon the perpen diculars, taken together ; and this is absolutely true, whatever be the size of the triangle, or the proportions of its sides to each other. Therefore, you can always find the length of any one of the three sides by know ing the lengths of the other two. Suppose one per pendicular side to be 3 feet long, the other 4, and you want to know the length of the third side opposite to the perpendicular ; you have only to find a number such, that if, multiplied by itself, it shall be equal to 302 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND 3 times 3, together with 4 times 4, that is 25. * (This number is 5). Now only observe the great advantage of knowing this property of the triangle, or of perpendicular lines. If you want to measure a fine passing over ground which you cannot reach — to know, for instance, the length of one side, covered with water, of a field, or the distance of one point on a lake or bay from an other point on the opposite side — you can easily find it by measuring two lines perpendicular to one another on the dry land, and running through the two points ; for the line wished to be measured, and which runs through the water, is the third side of a perpen dicular-sided triangle, the other two sides of which are ascertained. But there are other properties of triangles, which enable us to know the length of two sides of any triangle, whether it has perpendicular sides or not, by measuring one side, and also measur ing the inclinations of the other two sides to this side, or what is called the two angles made by those sides with the measured side. Therefore you can easily find the perpendicular line drawn, or supposed to be drawn, from the top of a mountain through it to the bottom, that is, the height of the mountain ; for you can measure a fine on level ground, and also the inclination of two lines, supposing them drawn in the air, and reaching from the two ends of the measured line to the mountain's top ; and having thus found the length of the one of those lines next the mountain, and its inclination to the ground, you can at once find the perpendicular, though you cannot possibly get near it. In the same way, by measuring lines and angles on " It is a property of numbers, that every number whatever, whose last place is either 5 or 0, is, when multiplied into itself, equal to two others which are square numbers, and divisible by 3 and 4 respectivelv : — thus, 45 X 45 = 2025 = 729 -|- 1296, the squares of 27 and 36 ; and 60 X CO = 3600 = 1296 + 2304, the squares of 36 and 48. PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 303 the ground, and near, you can find the length of lines at a great distance, and which you cannot approach : for instance, the length and breadth of a field on the opposite side of a lake or sea; the distance of two islands ; or the space between the tops of two moun tains. Again, there are curve-lined figures as well as straight, and geometry teaches the properties of these also. The best known of all the curves is the circle, or a figure made by drawing a string round one end which is fixed, and marking where its other end traces, so that every part of the circle is equally distant from the fixed point or centre. From this fundamental property, an infinite variety of others follow by steps of reasoning more or less numerous, but all necessarily arising one out of another. To give an instance ; it is proved by geometrical reasoning, that if from the two ends of any diameter of the circle you draw two lines to meet in any one point of the circle whatever, those lines are perpendicular to each other. Another property, and a most useful one, is, that the sizes, or areas, of all circles whatever, from the greatest to the smallest, from the sun to a watch- dialplate, are in exact proportion to the squares of their distances from the centre ; that is, the squares of the strings they are drawn with : so that if you draw a circle with a string 5 feet long, and another with a string 10 feet long, the large circle is four times the size of the small one, as far as the space or area enclosed is concerned ; the square of 10 or 100 being four times the square of 5 or 25. But it is also true, that the lengths of the circumferences themselves, the number of feet over which the ends of the strings move, are in proportion to the lengths of the strings ; so that the curve of the large circle is only twice the length of the curve of the lesser. But the circle is only one of an infinite variety of 304 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND curves, all having a regular formation and fixed properties. The oval or ellipse is, perhaps, next to the circle, the most familiar to us, although we more frequently see another curve, the line formed by the motion of bodies thrown forward. When you drop a stone, or throw it straight up, it goes in a straight line; when you throw it forward, it goes in a curve line till it reaches the ground; as you see by the figure in which water runs when forced out of a pump, or from a fire-pipe ; or from the spout of a kettle or teapot. The line it moves in is called a parabola; every point of which bears a certain fixed relation to a certain point within it, as the circle does to its centre. Geometry teaches various properties of this curve : for example, if the direction in which the stone is thrown, or the bullet fired, or the water spouted, be half the perpendicular to the ground, that is, half way between being level with the ground and being upright, the curve will come to the ground at a greater distance than if any other direction whatever were given, with the same force. So that, to make the gun carry farthest, or the fire-pipe play to the great est distance, they must be pointed, not, as you might suppose, level or point blank, but about half way between that direction and the perpendicular. If the air did not resist, and so somewhat disturb the cal culation, the direction to give the longest range ought to be exactly half perpendicular. The oval, or ellipse, is drawn by taking a string of any certain length, and fixing, not one end as in drawing the circle, but both ends to different points, and then carrying a point round inside the string, always keeping it stretched as far as possible. It is plain, that this figure is as regularly drawn as the circle, though it is very different from it; and you perceive that every point of its curve must be so placed, that the straight lines drawn from it to the two points where the string was fixed, are, when added PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 305 together, always the same; for they make together the length of the string. Among various properties belonging to this curve, in relation to the straight lines drawn within it, is one which gives rise to the construction of the trammels, or elliptic compasses, used for making; figures and ornaments of this form ; and also to the construction of lathes for turning oval frames, and the like. If you wish at once to see these three curves, take a pointed sugar-loaf, and cut it anywhere clean through in a direction parallel to its base or bottom ; the outline or edge of the loaf where it is cut will be a circle. If the cut is made so as to slant, and not be parallel to the base of the loaf, the outline is an ellipse, provided the cut goes quite through the sides of the loaf all round, or is in such a .direction that it would pass through the sides of the loaf were they extended ; but if it goes slanting and parallel to the line of the loaf's side, the outline is a parabola ; and if you cut in any direction, not through the sides all round, but through the sides and base, and not parallel to the line of the side, being nearer the perpendicular, the outline will be another curve of which we have not yet spoken, but which is called an hyperbola. You will see another instance of it, if you take two plates of glass, and lay them on one another; then put their edge in water, holding them upright and pressing them together ; the water, which, to make it more plain, you may colour with a few drops of ink or strong tea, rises to a certain height, and its outline is this curve; which, however much it may seem to differ in form from a circle or ellipse, is found by mathematicians to resemble them very closely in many of its most remarkable properties. These are the curve lines best known and most frequently discussed ; but there are an infinite number of others all related to straight fines and other curve fines by certain fixed rules; for example, the course which any point in the circumference of a circle, as a 306 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND nail in the felly of a wheel rolling along, takes through the air, is a curve called the cycloid, which has many remarkable properties; and, among others, this, that it is, of all lines possible, the one in which any body, not falling perpendicularly, will descend from one point to another the most quickly. Another curve often seen is that in which a rope or chain hangs when supported at both ends : it is called the Catenary, from the Latin for chain ; and in this form some arches are built. The form of a sail filled with wind is the same curve. II. DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MATHEMATICAL AND PHYSICAL TRUTHS. You perceive, if you reflect a little, that the science which we have been considering, in both its branches, has nothing to do with matter ; that is to say, it does not at all depend upon the properties or even upon the existence of any bodies or substances whatever. The distance of one point or place from another is a straight line ; and whatever is proved to be true respecting this line, as, for instance, its proportion to other fines of the same kind, and its inclination towards them, what we call the angles it makes with them, would be equally true whether there were anything in those places, at those two points, or not. So if you find the number of yards in a square field, by measuring one side, 100 yards, and then, multiplying that by itself, which makes the whole area 10,000 square yards, this is equally true whatever the field is, whether corn, or grass, or rock, or water ; it is equally true if the sohd part, the earth or water, be removed, for then it will be a field of air bounded by four walls or hedges ; but suppose the walls or hedges were removed, and a mark only left at each corner, still it would be true that the space enclosed or bounded by the lines supposed to be drawn between the four marks, was 10,000 square yards in size. But the marks need not be there ; you PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 307 only want them while measuring one side : if they were gone, it would be equally true that the lines, supposed to be drawn from the places where the marks had been, enclose 10,000 square yards of air. But if there were no air, and consequently a mere void, or empty space, it would be equally true that this space is of the size you had found it to be by measuring the distance of one point from another, of one of the space's corners or angles from another, and then multiplying that distance by itself. In the same way it would be true, that, if the space were circular, its size, compared with another circular space of half- its diameter, would be four times larger : of one-third its diameter nine times larger, and of one-fourth sixteen times, and so on always in proportion to the squares of the diameters ; and that the length of the circumference, the number of feet or yards in the line round the surface, would be twice the length of a circle whose diameter was one- half, thrice the circumference of one whose diameter was one-third, four times the circumference of one whose diameter was one-fourth, and so on, in the simple proportion of the diameters. Therefore, every property which is proved to belong to figures belongs to them without the smallest relation to bodies or matter of any kind, although we are accustomed only to see figures in connexion with bodies ; but all those properties would be equally true if no such thing as matter or bodies existed; and the same may be said of the properties of number, the other great branch of the mathematics. When we speak of twice two, and say it makes four, we affirm this without thinking of two horses, or two balls, or two trees ; but we assert it concerning two of anything and everything equally. Nay, this branch of mathematics may be said to apply still more extensively than even the other ; for it has no relation to space, which geometry has ; and, there fore, it is applicable to cases where figure and size are wholly out of the question. Thus you can speak of 308 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND two dreams, or two ideas, or two minds, and can calculate respecting them just as you would respecting so many bodies ; and the properties you find belonging to numbers, will belong to those numbers when applied to things that have no outward or visible or perceivable existence, and cannot even be said to be in any par ticular place, just as much as the same numbers applied to actual bodies which may be seen and touched. It is quite otherwise with the science which we are now going to consider, Natural Philosophy. This teaches the nature and properties of actually existing substances, their motions, their connexions with each other, and their influence on one another. It is some times also called Physics, from the Greek word signify ing Nature, though that word is more frequently, in common speech, confined to one particular branch of the science, that which treats of the bodily health. We have mentioned one distinction between Mathe matics and Natural Philosophy, that the former does not depend on the nature and existence of bodies, which the latter entirely does. Another distinction, and one closely connected with this, is, that the truths which Mathematics teach are necessarily such, — they are truths of themselves, and wholly independent of facts and experiments, — they depend only upon reason ing ; and it is utterly impossible they should be other wise than true. This is the case with all the properties which we find belong to numbers and to figures — 2 and 2 must of necessity, and through all time, and in every place, be equal to 4 : those numbers must neces sarily be always divisible by 3, without leaving any remainder over, which have the sums of the figures they consist of divisible by 3 ; and circles must neces sarily, and for ever and ever, be to one another in the exact proportion of the squares of their diameters. It cannot be otherwise ; we cannot conceive it in our minds to be otherwise. No man can in his own mind suppose to himself that 2 and 2 should ever be more PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 309 or less than 4 ; it would be an utter impossibility a contradiction in the very ideas ; and if stated in words, those words would have no sense. The other pro perties of number, though not so plain at first sight as this, are proved to be true by reasoning, every one step of which follows from the step immediately before, as a matter of course, and so clearly and unavoidably, that it cannot be supposed, or even imagined, to be otherwise ; the mind has no means of fancying how it could be otherwise : the final conclusion, from all the steps of the reasoning or demonstration, as it is called, follows in the same way from the last of the steps, and is therefore just as evidently and necessarily true as the first step, which is always something self-evident ; for instance, that 2 and 2 make 4, or that the whole is greater than any of its parts, but equal to all its parts put together. It is through this kind of reasoning, step by step, from the most plain and evident things, that we arrive at the knowledge of other things which seem at first not true, or at least not generally true ; but when we do arrive at them, we perceive that they are just as true, and for the same reasons, as the first and most obvious matters ; that their truth is absolute and necessary, and that it would be as absurd and self- contradictory to suppose they ever could, under any circumstances, be not true, as to suppose that 2 added to 2 could ever make 3, or 5, or 100, or anything but 4 ; or, which is the same thing, that 4 should ever be equal to 3, or 5, or 100, or anything but 4. To find out these reasonings, to pursue them to their con sequences, and thereby to discover the truths which are not immediately evident, is what science teaches us: but when the truth is once discovered, it is as certain and plain by the reasoning, as the first truths themselves from which all the reasoning takes its rise, on which it all depends, and which require no proof, because they are self-evident at once, and must be assented to the instant they are understood. 310 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND But it is quite different with the truths which Natural Philosophy teaches. All these depend upon matter of fact ; and that is learnt by observation and experiment, and never could be discovered by reasoning at all. If a man were shut up in a room with pen, ink, and paper, he might by thinking discover any of the truths in arithmetic, algebra, or geometry ; it is possible at least ; there would be nothing absolutely impossible in his discovering all that is now known of these sciences; and if his memory were as good as we are supposing his judgment and conception to be, he might discover it all without pen, ink, and paper, and in a dark room. But we cannot discover a single one of the fundamental properties of matter without observing what goes on around us, and trying experiments upon the nature and motion of Tiodies. Thus, the man whom we have sup posed shut up, could not possibly find out beyond one or two of the very first properties of matter, and those only in a very few cases ; so that he could not tell if these were general properties of all matter or not. He could tell that the objects he touched in the dark were hard and resisted his touch ; that they were ex tended and were solid: that is, that they had three dimensions, length, breadth, and thickness. He might guess that other things existed besides those he felt, and that those other things resembled what he felt in these properties ; but he could know nothing for certain, and could not even conjecture much beyond this very limited number of qualities. He must remain utterly ignorant of what really exists in nature, and of what properties matter in general has. These properties, therefore, we learn by experience; they are such as we know bodies to have ; they happen to have them — they are so formed by Divine Providence to have them — but they might have been otherwise formed; the great Author of Nature might have thought fit to make all bodies different in every respect. We see that a stone dropped from our hand falls to the ground ; this PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 311 is a fact which we can only know by experience ; before observing it, we could not have guessed it, and it is quite conceivable that it should be otherwise : for instance, that when we remove our hand from the body it should stand still in the air ; or fly upward, or go forward, or backward, or sideways ; there is nothing at all absurd, contradictory, or inconceivable in any of these suppositions ; there is nothing impossible in any of them, as there would be in supposing the stone equal to half of itself, or double of itself; or both falling down and rising upwards at once; or going to the right and to the left at one and the same time. Our only reason for not at once thinking it quite conceiv able that the stone should stand still in the air, or fly upwards, is, that we have never seen it do so, and have become accustomed to see it do otherwise. But for that, we should at once think it as natural that the stone should fly upwards or stand still, as that it should fall down. But no degree of reflection for any length of time could accustom us to think 2 and 2 equal to anything but 4, or to believe the whole of anything equal to a part of itself. After we have once, by observation or experiment, ascertained certain things to exist in fact, we may then reason upon them by means of the mathematics ; that is, we may apply mathematics to our experimental philosophy, and then such reasoning becomes abso lutely certain, taking the fundamental facts for granted. Thus, if we find that a stone falls in one direction when dropped, and we further observe the peculiar way in which it falls, that is, quicker and quicker every instant till it reaches the ground, we learn the rule or the proportion by which the quickness goes on increasing ; and we further find, that if the same stone is pushed forward on a table, it moves in the direction of the push, till it is either stopped by something, or comes to a pause by rubbing against the table and being hindered by the air. These are facts which we learn 312 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND by observing and trying, and they might all have been different if matter and motion had been otherwise con stituted ; but supposing them to be as they are, and as we find them, we can, by reasoning mathematically from them, find out many most curious and important truths depending upon those facts, and depending upon them not accidentally, but of necessity. For example, we can find in what course the stone will move, if, instead of being dropped to the ground, it is thrown forward : it will go in the curve already mentioned, the parabola, somewhat altered by the resistance of the air, and it will run through that curve in a peculiar way, so that there will always be a certain proportion between the time it takes and the space it moves through, and the time it would have taken, and the space it would have moved through, had it dropped from the hand in a straight line to the ground. So we can prove, in hke manner, what we before stated of the relation between the distance at which it will come to the ground, and the direction it is thrown in; the distance being greatest of all when the direction is half way between the level or horizontal and the upright or perpendicular. These are mathematical truths, derived by mathematical reasoning upon physical grounds; that is, upon matter of fact found to exist by actual observation and experiment. The result, therefore, is necessarily true, and proved to be so by reasoning only, provided we have once ascertained the facts ; but taken altogether, the result depends partly on the facts learned by experiment or experience, partly on the reasoning from these facts. Thus it is found to be true by reasoning, and necessarily true, that if the stone falls in a certain way when unsupported, it must, when thrown forward, go in the curve called a parabola, provided there be no air to resist : this is a necessary or mathematical truth, and it cannot possibly be other wise. But when we state the matter without any sup position, — without any " if" — and say, a stone thrown PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 313 # forward goes in a curve called a parabola, we state a truth, partly fact, and partly drawn from reasoning on the fact; and it might be otherwise if the nature of things were different. It is called a proposition or truth in Natural Philosophy ; and as it is discovered and proved by mathematical reasoning upon facts in nature, it is sometimes called a proposition or truth in the Mixed Mathematics, so named in contradistinction to the Pure Mathematics, which are employed in reasoning upon figures and numbers. The man in the dark room could never discover this truth unless he had been first informed, by those who had observed the fact, in what way the stone falls when unsupported, and moves along the table when pushed. These things he never could have found out by reasoning : they are facts, and he could only reason from them after learn ing them by his own experience, or taking them on the credit of other people's experience. But having once so learnt them, he could discover by reasoning merely, and with as much certainty as if he lived in daylight, and saw and felt the moving body, that the motion is a parabola, and governed by certain rules. As experi ment and observation are the great sources of our knowledge of Nature, and as the judicious and careful making of experiments is the only way by which her secrets can be known, Natural and Experimental Philo sophy mean one and the same thing ; mathematical reasoning being applied to certain branches of it, parti cularly those which relate to motion and pressure. HI. NATURAL OR EXPERIMENTAL SCIENCE. Natural Philosophy, in its most extensive sense, has for its province the investigation of the laws of matter ; that is, the properties and the motions of matter ; and it may be divided into two great branches. The first and most important (which is sometimes, on that account, called Natural Philosophy by way of dis- 314 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND tinction, but more properly Mechanical Philosophy) investigates the sensible motions of bodies. The second investigates the constitution and qualities of all bodies, and has various names, according to its different objects. It is called Chemistry, if it teaches the properties of bodies with respect to heat, mixture with one another, weight, taste, appearance, and so forth ; Anatomy and Animal Physiology (from the Greek word signifying to speak of the nature of anything), if it teaches the structure and functions of living bodies, especially the human ; for, when it shows those of other animals, we term it Comparative Anatomy; Medicine, if it teaches the nature of diseases, and the means of preventing them and of restoring health; Zoology (from the Greek words signifying to speak of animals), if it teaches the arrangement or classification and the habits of the dif ferent lower animals ; Botany (from the Greek word for herbage), including Vegetable Physiology, if it teaches the arrangement or classification, the structure and habits of plants ; Mineralogy, including Geology (from the Greek words meaning to speak of the earth), if it teaches the arrangement of minerals, the structure of the masses in which they are found, and of the earth composed of those masses. The term Natural History is given to the three last branches taken together, but chiefly as far as they teach the classification of different things, or the observation of the resemblances and dif ferences of the various animals, plants, and inanimate and ungrowing substances in nature. But here we make two general observations. The first is, that every such distribution of the sciences is necessarily imperfect; for one runs unavoidably into another. Thus, Chemistry shows the qualities of plants with relation to other substances, and to each other ; and Botany does not overlook those same qualities, though its chief object be arrangement. So Mineralogy, though principally conversant with classi fying metals and earths, yet regards also their qualities PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 315 in respect of heat and mixture. So, too, Zoology, beside arranging animals, describes their structures, like Comparative Anatomy. In truth, all arrangement and classifying depends upon noting the things in which the objects agree and differ ; and among those things, in which animals, plants, and minerals agree, or differ, must be considered the anatomical qualities of the one and the chemical qualities of the other. From hence, in a great measure, follows the second observation, namely, that the sciences mutually assist each other. We have seen how Arithmetic and Algebra aid Geometry, and how both the purely Mathematical Sciences aid Mechanical Philosophy. Mechanical Phi losophy, in like manner, assists, though, in the present state of our knowledge, not very considerably, both Chemistry and Anatomy, especially the latter; and Chemistry very greatly assists both Physiology, Medi cine, and all the branches of Natural History. The first great head, then, of Natural Science, is Mechanical Philosophy ; and it consists of various sub divisions, each forming a science of great importance. The most essential of these, and which is indeed fun damental, and applicable to all the rest, is called Dynamics, from the Greek word signifying power or force, and it teaches the laws of motion in all its varieties. The case of the stone thrown forward, which we have already mentioned more than once, is an example. Another, of a more general nature, but more diflicult to trace, far more important in its con sequences, and of which, indeed, the former is only one particular case, relates to the motions of all bodies, which are attracted (or influenced, or drawn) by any power towards a certain point, while they are, at the same time, driven forward, by some push given to* them at first, and forcing them onwards, at the same time that they are drawn towards the point. The line in which a body moves while so drawn and so driven, depends upon the force it is pushed with, the direction 316 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND it is pushed in, and the kind of power that draws it towards the point; but at present, we are chiefly to regard the latter circumstance, the attraction towards the point. If this attraction be uniform, that is, the same at all distances from the point, the body will move in a circle, if one direction be given to the forward push. The case with which we are best acquainted is when the force decreases as the squares of the distances, from the centre or point of attraction, increase ; that is, when the force is four times less at twice the distance, nine times less at thrice the dis tance, sixteen times less at four times the distance, and so on. A force of this kind acting on the body, will make it move in an oval, a parabola, or an hyperbola, according to the amount or direction of the impulse, or forward push, originally given; and there is one proportion of that force, which, if directed perpendicularly to the fine in which the central force draws the body, will make it move round in a circle, as if it were a stone tied to a string and whirled round the hand. The most usual proportions in nature, are those which determine bodies to move in an oval or ellipse, the curve described by means of a cord fixed at both ends, in the way already explained. In this case, the point of attraction, the point towards which the body is drawn, will be nearer one end of the ellipse than the other, and the time the body will take to go round, compared with the time any other body would take, moving at a different distance from the same point of attraction, but drawn towards that point with a force which bears the same proportion to the dis tance, will bear a certain proportion, discovered by mathematicians, to the average distances of the two bodies from the point of common attraction. If you multiply the numbers expressing the times of going round, each by itself, the products will be to one another in the proportion of the average distances multiplied each by itself, and that product again by PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 317 the distance. Thus, if one body take two hours, and is five yards distant, the other, being ten yards off, will take something less than five hours and forty minutes.* Now, this is one of the most important truths in the whole compass of science ; for it does so happen, that the force with which bodies fall towards the earth, or what is called their gravity, the power that draws or attracts them towards the earth, varies with the distance from the Earth's centre, exactly in the proportion of the squares, lessening as the distance increases: at two diameters from the Earth's centre, it is four times less than at one ; at three diameters, nine times less ; and so forth. It goes on lessening, but never is destroyed, even at the greatest distances to which we can reach by our observations, and there can be no doubt of its extending indefinitely beyond. But, by astronomical observations made upon the motion of the heavenly bodies, upon that of the Moon for instance, it is proved that her movement is slower and quicker, at different parts of her force, in the same manner as a body's motion on the earth would be slower and quicker, according to its distance from the point it was drawn towards, provided it was drawn by a force acting in the proportion to the squares of the distance, which we have frequently mentioned; and the proportion of the time to the distance is also observed to agree with the rule above referred to. Therefore, she is shown to be attracted towards the Earth by a force that varies according to the same proportion in which gravity varies ; and she must con sequently move in an ellipse round the Earth, which is placed in a point nearer the one end than the other of that curve. In like manner, it is shown that the Earth moves round the Sun in the same curve * This is expressed mathematically by saying, that the squares of the times are as the cubes of the distances. Mathematical language is not only the simplest and most easily understood of any, but the shortest also. 318 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND line, and is drawn towards the Sun by a similar force ; and that all the other planets in their courses, at various distances, follow the same rule, moving in ellipses, and drawn towards the Sun by the same kind of power. Three of them have moons like the Earth, only more numerous, for Jupiter has four, Saturn seven, and Herschel six, so very distant, that we cannot see them without the help of glasses ; but all those moons move round their principal planets, as ours does round the Earth, in ovals or ellipses ; while the planets, with their moons, move in their ovals round the Sun, hke our own Earth with its moon. But this power, which draws them all towards the Sun, and regulates their path and their motion round him, and which draws the moons towards the principal planets, and regulates their motion and path round those planets, is the same with the gravity by which bodies fall towards the earth, being attracted by it. Therefore, the whole of the heavenly bodies are kept in their places, and wheel round the Sun, by the same influence or power that makes a stone fall to the ground. It is usual to call the Sun, and the planets which with their moons move round him (eleven in number, including the four lately discovered, and the one dis covered by Herschel), the Solar System, because they are a class of the heavenly bodies far apart from the innumerable fixed stars, and so near each other as to exert a perceptible influence on one another, and thus to be connected together. The Comets belong to the same system, according to this manner of viewing the subject. They are bodies which move in elliptical paths, but far longer and narrower than the curves in which the earth and the other planets and their moons roll. Our curves are not much less round than circles; the paths of the comets are long and narrow, so as, in many places, to be more nearly straight fines than circles. They PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 319 differ from the planets and their moons in another respect ; they do not depend on the sun for the light they give, as our moon plainly does, being dark when the earth comes between her and the sun ; and as the other planets do, those of them that are nearer the sun than we are, being dark when they come between us and him, appearing to pass across his surface. But the comets give fight always of themselves, being apparently vast bodies heated red-hot by coming in their course far nearer the sun than the nearest of the planets ever do. Their motion, when near the sun, is much more, rapid than that of the planets; they both approach him much nearer, retreat from him to much greater distances, and take much longer time in going round him than any of the planets do. Yet even these comets are subject to the same great law of gravitation which regulates the motions of the planets. Their year, the time they take to revolve, is in some cases 75, in others 135, in others 300 of our years; their distance is a hundred times our distance when farthest off, and not a hundred and sixtieth of our distance when nearest the sun ; their swiftest motion is above twelve times swifter than ours, although ours is a hundred and forty times swifter than a cannon ball's ; yet their path is a curve of the same kind with ours, though longer and flatter, differ ing in its formation only as one oval differs from another by the string you draw it with having the ends fixed at two points more distant from each other : consequently the sun, being in one of those points, is much nearer the end of the path the comet moves in, than he is near the end of our path. Their motion, too, follows the same rule, being swifter the nearer the sun: the attraction of the sun for them varies according to the squares of the distances, being four times less at twice the distance, nine times less at thrice, and so on; and the proportion between the times of revolving and the distances is exactly the 320 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND same, in the case of those remote bodies, as in that of the moon and the earth. One law prevails over all, and regulates their motions as well as our own; it is the gravity of the comets towards the sun, and they, like our own earth and moon, wheel round him in boundless space, drawn by the same force, acting by the same rule, which makes a stone fall when dropped from the hand. The more full and accurate our observations are upon those heavenly bodies, the better we find all their motions agreeing with this great doctrine ; al though, no doubt, many things are to be taken into the account besides the force that draws them to the different centres. Thus, while the moon is drawn by the earth, and the earth by the sun, the moon is also drawn directly by the sun; and while Jupiter is drawn by the sun, so are his moons ; and both Jupiter and his moons are drawn by Saturn: nay, as this power of gravitation is quite universal, and as no body can attract or draw another without being itself drawn by that other, the earth is drawn by the moon, while the moon is drawn by the earth ; and the sun is attracted by the planets which he draws towards himself. These mutual attractions give rise to many deviations from the simple line of the ellipse, and produce many irregularities in the simple calculation of the times and motions of the bodies that compose the system of the universe. But the extraordinary powers of investigation applied to the subject by the modern improvements in mathe matics, have enabled us at length to reduce even the greatest of the irregularities to order and system; and to unfold one of the most wonderful truths in all sciences, namely, that by certain necessary con sequence of the simple fact upon which the whole fabric rests, the proportion of the attractive force to the distances at which it operates, — all the irregu larities which at first seemed to disturb the order of PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 321 the system, and to make the appearances depart from the doctrine, are themselves subject to a certain fixed rule, and can never go beyond a particular point, but must begin to lessen when they have slowly reached that point, and must then lessen until they reach another point, when they begin again to increase ; and so on, for ever. Nay, so perfect is the arrange ment of the whole system, and so accurately does it depend upon mathematical principles, that irregu larities, or rather apparent deviations, have been dis covered by mathematical reasoning before astronomers had observed them, and then their existence has been ascertained by observation, and found to agree pre cisely with the results of calculation.* Thus, the planets move in ovals, from gravity, the power that attracts them towards the sun, combined with the original impulse they received forwards ; and the disturbing forces are continually varying the course of the curves or ovals, making them bulge out in the middle, as it were, on the sides, though in a very small proportion to the whole length of the ellipse. The oval thus bulging, its breadth increases by a very small quantity yearly and daily; and after a certain large number of years, the bulging becomes as great as it ever can be : then the alteration takes a contrary direction, and the curve gradually flattens as it had bulged; till, in the same number of years which it * The application of mathematics to chemistry has already produced a great change in that science, and is calculated to produce still greater improvements. It may be almost certainly reckoned upon as the source of new discoveries, made by induction after the mathematical reasoning has given the suggestion. The learned reader will perceive that we allude to the beautiful doctrine of Definite or Multiple Proportions. To take an example : the probability of an oxide of arsenic being discovered is impressed upon us, by the composition of arsenious and arsenic acids, in which the oxygen is as 2 to 3 ; and therefore we may expect to find a compound of the same base, with the oxygen as unity. The extra ordinary action of chlorine and its compounds on light leads us to expect some further discovery respecting its composition, perhaps respecting the matter of light. Y 322 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND took to bulge, it becomes as flat as it ever can be, and then it begins to bulge again, and so on for ever. And so, too, of every other disturbance and irregu larity in the system : what at first appears to be some departure from the rule, when more fully examined, turns out to be only a consequence of it, or the result of a more general arrangement springing from the principle of gravitation ; an arrangement of which the rule itself, and the apparent or supposed exception, both form parts. The power of gravitation, which thus regulates the whole system of the universe, is found to rule each member or branch of it separately. Thus, it is demon strated that the tides of the ocean are caused by the gravitation which attracts the water towards the sun and moon ; and the figure both of our earth and of such of the other bodies as have a spinning motion round their axis, is determined by gravitation com bined with that motion : they are all flattened towards the ends of the axis they spin upon, and bulge out towards the middle. The great discoverer of the principle on which all these truths rest, Sir Isaac Newton, certainly by far the most extraordinary man that ever lived, concluded by reasoning upon the nature of motion and matter, that this flattening must take place in our globe ; every one before his time had believed the earth to be a perfect sphere or globe, chiefly from observing the round shadow which it casts on the moon in eclipses ; and it was many years after his death that the accu racy of his opinion was proved by measurements on the earth's surface, and by the different weight and attrac tion of bodies at the equator, where it bulges, and at the poles, where it is flattened. The improvement of telescopes has enabled us to ascertain the same fact with respect to the planets Jupiter and Saturn. Besides unfolding the general laws which regulate the motions and figures of the heavenly bodies forming PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 323 our Solar System, Astronomy consists in calculations of the places, times, and eclipses of those bodies, and their moons or satellites (from a Latin word signify ing an attendant), and in observations of the Fixed Stars, which are innumerable assemblages of bodies, not moving round the Sun as our Earth and the other planets do, nor receiving the light they shine with from his light; but shining, as the Sun and the Comets do, with a light of their own, and placed, to all appearance, immovable, at immense distances from our world, that is, from our Solar System. Each of them is probably the sun of some other system like our own, composed of planets and their moons or satellites ; but so extremely distant from us, that they all are seen by us like one point of faint light, as you see two lamps placed a few inches asunder, only like one, when you view them a great way off. The number of the Fixed Stars is prodigious : even to the naked eye they are very numerous, about 3000 being thus visible ; but when the heavens are viewed through the telescope, stars become visible in numbers wholly incalculable : 2000 are discovered in one of the small collections of a few visible stars called Constellations; nay, what appears to the naked eye only a light cloud, as the Milky Way, when viewed through the telescope, proves to be an assemblage of innumerable Fixed Stars, each of them in all likelihood a sun and a system like the rest, though at an immeasurable distance from ours. The size, and motions, and distances of the heavenly bodies are such as to exceed the power of ordinary imagination, from any comparison with the smaller things we see around us. The Earth's diameter is nearly 8000 miles in length; but the Sun's is above 880,000 miles, and the bulk of the Sun is above 1,300,000 times greater than that of the Earth. The planet Jupiter, which looks like a mere speck, from his vast distance, is nearly 1300 times larger than the Earth. Our distance from the Sun is above 95 324 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND millions of miles; but Jupiter is 490 millions, and Saturn 900 millions of miles distant from the Sun. The rate at which the Earth moves round the Sun is 68,000 miles an hour, or 140 times swifter than the motion of a cannon-ball ; and the planet Mercury, the nearest to the Sun, moves still quicker, nearly 110,000 miles an hour. We, upon the Earth's surface, besides being carried round the Sun, move round the Earth's axis by the rotatory or spinning motion which it has ; so that every 24 hours we move in this manner near 24,000 miles, beside moving round the Sun above 1,600,000 miles. These motions and distances, how ever, prodigious as they are, seem as nothing compared to those of the comets, one of which, when farthest from the Sun, is 11,200 millions of miles from him ; and, when nearest the Sun, flies at the amazing rate of 880,000 miles an hour. Sir Isaac Newton calculated its heat at 2000 times that of red-hot iron ; and that it would take thousands of years to cool. But the distance of the Fixed Stars is yet more vast: they have been supposed to be 400,000 times farther from us than we are from the Sun, that is, 38 millions of millions of miles ; so that a cannon-ball would take nearly nine millions of years to reach one of them, supposing there was nothing to hinder it from pur suing its course thither. As light takes about eight minutes and a quarter to reach us from the Sun, it would be above six years in coming from one of those stars ; but the calculations of later astrono mers prove some stars to be so far distant, that their light must take centuries before it can reach us ; so that every particle of light which enters our eyes left the star it comes from three or four hundred years ago. Astronomers have, by means of their excellent glasses, aided by Geometry and calculations, been able to observe not only stars, planets, and their satellites, invisible to the naked eye, but to measure the height PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 325 of mountains in the Moon, by observations of the shadows which those eminences cast on her surface; and they have discovered volcanoes, or burning moun tains, in the same body. The tables, which they have by the like means been enabled to form of the heavenly motions, are of great use in navigation. By means of the eclipses of Jupiter's satellites, and by the tables of the Moon's. motions, we can ascertain the position of a ship at sea ; for the observation of the Sun's height at mid day gives the latitude of the place, that is, its distance from the equinoctial or equator, the line passing through the middle of the Earth's surface equally distant from both poles; and these tables, with the observations of the satellites, or moons, give the dis tance east and west of the observatory for which the tables are calculated — called the longitude of the place : consequently the mariner can thus tell nearly in what part of the ocean he is, how far he has sailed from his port of departure, and how far he must sail, and in what direction, to gain the port of his destination. The advantage of this knowledge is therefore manifest in the common affairs of life ; but it sinks into insigni ficance compared with the vast extent of those views which the contemplations of the science afford, of numberless worlds filling the immensity of space, and all kept in their places, and adjusted in their prodi gious motions by the same simple principle, under the guidance of an all-wise and all-powerful Creator. We have been considering the application of Dyna mics to the motions of the heavenly bodies, which forms the science of Physical Astronomy. The application of Dynamics to the calculation, production, and direc tion of motion, forms the science of Mechanics, some times called Practical Mechanics, to distinguish it from the more general use of the word, which compre hends everything that relates to motion and force. The fundamental principle of the science, upon which 326 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND it mainly depends, flows immediately from a property of the circle already mentioned, and which, perhaps, appeared at the moment of little value, —that the lengths of circles are in proportion to their diameters. Observe how upon this simple truth nearly the whole of those contrivances are budt by which the power of man is increased as far as solid matter assists him in extending it ; and nearly the whole of those doctrines, too, by which he is enabled to explain the voluntary motions of animals, as far as these depend upon their own bodies. There can be nothing more instructive in showing the importance and fruitfulness of scientific truths, however trivial and forbidding they may at first sight appear. For it is an immediate consequence of this property of the circle, that if a rod of iron, or beam of wood, or any other solid material, be placed on a point, or pivot, so that it may move as the arms of a balance do round its centre, or a see-saw board does round its prop, the two ends will go through parts of circles, each proportioned to that arm of the beam to which it belongs : the two circles will be equal if the pivot is in the centre or middle point of the beam ; but if it is nearer one end than the other, say three times, that end will go through a circular space, or arch, three times shorter than the circular space the other end goes through in the same time. If, then, the end of the long beam goes through three times the space, it must move with three times the swiftness of the short beam's end, since both move in the same time ; and therefore any force applied to the long end must overcome the resistance of three times that force ap plied at the opposite end, since the two ends move in contrary directions;" hence one pound placed at the long end would balance three placed at the short end. The beam we have been supposing is called a Lever, and the same rule must evidently hold for all propor tions of the lengths of its arms. If, then, the lever be seventeen feet long, and the pivot, or fulcrum (as it is PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 327 called, from a Latin word signifying support), be a foot from one end, an ounce placed on the other end will balance a pound plaeed on the near end ; and the least additional weight, or the slightest push or pressure on the far end, so loaded, will make the pound weight on the other move upwards. If, instead of an ounce, we place upon the end of the long arm the short arm of a second beam or lever supported by a fulcrum, one foot from it, and then place the long arm of this second lever upon the short arm of a third lever, whose fulcrum is one foot from it ; and if we put on the end of this third lever's long arm an ounce weight, that ounce will move upwards a pound on the second lever's long arm, and this moving upwards will cause the short arm to force downwards sixteen pounds at the long end of the first lever, which will make the short end of the first lever move upwards, though two hundred and fifty-six pounds be laid on it : the same thing continu ing, a pound on the long arm of the third lever will move a ton and three-quarters on the short arm of the first lever ; that is, will balance it, so that the slightest pressure with the finger, or a touch from a child's hand, will move as much as two horses can draw. The lever is called, on this account, a mechanical power ; and there are five other mechanical powers, of most of which its properties form the foundation ; indeed they have all been resolved into combinations of levers. The pulley seems the most difficult to reduce under the principle of the lever. Thus the wheel and axle is only a lever moving round an axle, and always retain ing the effect gained during every part of the motion, by means of a rope wound round the butt end of the axle ; the spoke of the wheel being the long arm of the lever, and the half diameter of the axle its short arm. By a combination of levers, wheels, pulleys, so great an increase of force is obtained, that, but for the obstruc tion from friction, and the resistance of the air, there could be no bounds to the effect of the smallest force 328 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND thus multiplied; and to this fundamental principle Archimedes, one of the most illustrious mathematicians of ancient times, referred, when he boasted, that if he only had a pivot or fulcrum whereon he might rest his machinery, he could move the Earth. Upon so simple a truth, assisted by the aid derived from other sources, rests the whole fabric of mechanical power, whether for raising weights, or cleaving rocks, or pumping up rivers from the bowels of the earth ; or, in short, per forming any of those works to which human strength, even augmented by the help of the animals whom Providence has subdued to our use, would prove alto gether inadequate. The application of Dynamics to the pressure and motions of fluids, constitutes a science which receives different appellations according as the fluids are heavy and liquid like water, or light and invisible like air. In the former case it is called Hydrodynamics, from the Greek words signifying water, a,n& power or force; in the latter Pneumatics, from the Greek word signify ing breath or air ; and Hydrodynamics is divided into Hydrostatics, which treats of the weight and pressure of liquids, from the Greek words for balancing of water ; and Hydraulics, which treats of their motion, from the Greek name for certain musical instruments played with water in pipes. The discoveries to which experiments, aided by mathematical reasoning, have led, upon the pressure and motion of fluids, are of the greatest importance, whether we regard their application to practical pur poses, or to their use for explaining the appearances in nature, or their singularity as the subjects of scientific contemplation. When it is found that the pressure of water or any other liquid upon the surface that con tains it, is not in the least degree proportioned to its bulk, but only to the height at which it stands, so that a long small pipe, containing a pound or two of the fluid, will give the pressure of twenty or thirty tons ; PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 329 nay, of twice or thrice as much, if its length be in creased and its bore lessened, without the least regard to the quantity of the liquid, we are not only astonished at so extraordinary and unexpected a property of matter, but we straightway perceive one of the great agents employed in the vast operations of nature, in which the most trifling means are used to work the mightiest effects. We likewise learn to guard against many serious mischiefs in our own works, and to apply safely and usefully a power calculated, according as it is directed, either to produce unbounded devastation, or to render the most beneficial service. Nor are the discoveries relating to the Air less interesting in themselves, and less applicable to im portant uses. It is an agent, though invisible, as powerful as Water, in the operations both of nature and of art. Experiments of a simple and decisive nature show the amount of its pressure to be between 14 and 15 pounds on every square inch ; but, like all other fluids, it presses equally in every direction: so that though, on one hand, there is a pressure down wards of above 250 pounds, yet this is exactly balanced by an equal pressure upwards, from the air pressing round and getting below. If, however, the air on one side be removed, the whole pressure from the other acts unbalanced. Hence the ascent of water in pumps, which suck out the air from a barrel, and allow the pressure upon the water to force it up 32 or 33 feet, that body of water being equal to the weight of the atmosphere. Hence the ascent of the mercury in the barometer is only 28 or 29 inches, mercury being between 13 and 14 times heavier than water. Hence, too, the motion of the steam-engine; the piston of which, until the direct force of steam was applied, used to be pressed downwards by the weight of the atmos phere from above, all air being removed below it by first filling it with steam, and then suddenly cooling and converting that steam into water, so as to leave 330 OBJECTS ADVANTAGES, AND nothing in the space it had occupied. Hence, too, the power which some animals possess of walking along the perpendicular surfaces of walls, and even the ceilings of rooms, by squeezing out the air between the inside of their feet and the wall, and thus being supported by the pressure of the air against the outside of their feet. The science of Optics (from the Greek word for seeing), which teaches the nature of light, and of the sensation conveyed by it, presents, of itself, a field of unbounded extent and interest. To it the arts, and the other sciences, owe those most useful instruments which have enabled us at once to examine the minutest parts of the structure of animal and vegetable bodies, and to calculate the size and the motions of the most remote of the heavenly bodies. But as an object of learned curiosity, nothing can be more singular than the fundamental truth discovered by the genius of Newton, — that the light, which we call white, is in fact composed of all the colours, blended in certain proportions; unless, perhaps, it be that astonishing conjecture of his unrivalled sagacity, by which he descried the inflammable nature of the diamond, and its belonging, against all appearance of probability, to the class of oily substances, from having observed, that it stood among them, and far removed from all crystals, in the degree of its action upon light; a conjecture turned into certainty by discoveries made a century afterwards, To a man who, for original genius and strong natural sense, is not unworthy of being named after this illustrious sage, we owe the greater part of Elec trical science. It treats of the peculiar substances, resembling both light and heat, which, by rubbing, is found to be produced in a certain class of bodies, as glass, wax, silk, amber ; and to be conveyed easily or conducted through others, as wood, metals, water; and it has received the name of Electricity, from the PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 331 Greek word for amber. Dr. Franklin discovered that this is the same matter which, when collected in the clouds, and conveyed from them to the earth, we call lightning, and whose noise, in darting through the air, is thunder. The observation of some movements in the limbs of a dead frog gave rise to the discovery of Animal Electricity, or Galvanism, as it was at first called from the name of the discoverer ; and which has of late years given birth to improvements that have changed the face of chemical philosophy ; affording a new proof how few there are of the processes of nature incapable of repaying the labour we bestow in patiently and diligently examining them. It is to the results of the remark accidentally made upon the twitching in the frog's leg, not, however, hastily dismissed and for gotten, but treasured up and pursued through many an elaborate experiment and calculation, that we owe our acquaintance with the extraordinary metal, liquid like mercury, lighter than water, and more inflam mable than phosphorus, which forms, when it burns by mere exposure to the air, one of the salts best known in commerce, and the principal ingredient in saltpetre. In order to explain the nature and objects of those branches of Natural Science more or less connected with the mathematics, some details were necessary, as without them it was difficult immediately to perceive their importance, and, as it were, relish the kind of in struction which they afford. But the same course needs not be pursued with respect to the other branches. The value and the interest of chemistry is at once perceived, when it is known to teach the nature of all bodies ; the relations of simple substances to heat and to one another, or their combinations together; the composition of those which nature produces in a com pound state ; and the application of the whole to the arts and manufactures. Some branches of philosophy, again, are chiefly useful and interesting to particu- 332 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND lar classes, as surgeons and physicians. Others are easily understood by a knowledge of the principles of Mechanics and Chemistry, of which they are applica tions and examples ; as those which teach the structure of the earth and the changes it has undergone ; the motions of the muscles, and the structure of the parts of animals ; the qualities of animal and vegetable substances ; and that department of Agriculture which treats of soils, manure, and machinery. Other branches are only collections of facts, highly curious and useful indeed, but which any one who reads or listens, per ceives as clearly, and comprehends as readily, as the professed student. To this class belongs Natural History, in so far as it describes the habits of animals and plants, and its application to that department of Agriculture which treats of cattle and their manage ment. IV. APPLICATION OF NATURAL SCIENCE TO THE ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE WORLD. But, for the purpose of further illustrating the advan tages of Philosophy, its tendency to enlarge the mind, as well as to interest it agreeably, and afford pure and solid gratification, a few instances may be given of the singular truths brought to light by the application of Mathematical, Mechanical, and Chemical knowledge to the habits of animals and plants ; and some examples may be added of the more ordinary and easy, but scarcely less interesting observations, made upon those habits, without the aid of the profounder sciences. We may remember the curve line which mathe maticians call a Cycloid. It is the path which any point of a circle, moving along a plane, and round its centre, traces in the air ; so that the nail on the felly of a cart-wheel moves in a cycloid, as the cart goes along, and as the wheel itself both turns round its axle and is carried along the ground. Now this curve has PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 333 certain properties of a peculiar and very singular kind with respect to motion. One is, that if any body whatever moves in a cycloid by its own weight or swing, together with some other force acting upon it all the while, it will go through all distances of the same curve in exactly the same time; and, accord ingly, pendulums have sometimes been contrived to swing in such a manner, that they shall describe cycloids, or curves very near cycloids, and thus move in equal times, whether they go through a long or a short part of the same curve. Again, if a body is to descend from any one point to any other, not in the perpendicular, by means of some force acting on it together with its weight, the line in which it will go the quickest of all will be the cycloid ; not the straight line, though that is the shortest of all fines which can be drawn between the two points ; nor any other curve whatever, though many are much flatter, and there fore shorter than the cycloid — but the cycloid, which is longer than many of them, is yet, of all curved or straight fines which can be drawn, the one the body will move through in the shortest time. Suppose, again, that the body is to move from one point to another, by its weight and some other force acting together, but to go through a certain space, — as a hundred yards, — the way it must take to do this, in the shortest time possible, is by moving in a cycloid ; or the length of a hundred yards must be drawn into a cycloid, and then the body will descend through the hundred yards in a shorter time than it could go the same distance in any other path whatever. Now, it is believed that Birds, as the Eagle, which build in the rocks, drop or fly down from height to height in this course. It is impossible to make very accurate obser vations of their flight and path ; but there is a general resemblance between the course they take and the cycloid, which has led ingenious men to adopt this opinion. 334 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND If we have a certain quantity of any substance, a pound of wood, for example, and would fashion it in the shape to take the least room, we must make a globe of it; it will in this figure have the smallest surface. But suppose we want to form the pound of wood, so that in moving through the air or water it shall meet with the least possible resistance ; then we must lengthen it out for ever, till it becomes not only like a long-pointed pin, but thinner and thinner, longer and longer, till it is quite a straight line, and has no perceptible breadth or thickness at all. If we would dispose of the given quantity of matter, so that it shall have a certain length only, say a foot, and a certain breadth at the thickest part, say three inches, and move through the air or water with the smallest pos sible resistance which a body of those dimensions can meet, then we must form it into a figure of a peculiar kind, called the Solid of least resistance, because, of all the shapes that can be given to the body, its length and breadth remaining the same, this is the one which will make it move with the least resistance through the air, or water, or other fluid. A very difficult chain of mathematical reasoning, by means of the highest branches of algebra, leads to a knowledge of the curve which, by revolving on its axis, makes a solid of this shape, in the same way that a circle, by so revolving, makes a sphere or globe; and the curve certainly resembles closely the face or head part of a fish. Nature, therefore (by which we always mean the Divine Author of nature), has fashioned these fishes so, that, according to mathematical principles, they swim the most easily through the element they live and move in.* Suppose upon the face part of one of these fishes a small insect were bred, endowed with faculties suffi cient to reason upon its condition, and upon the * The feathers of the wings of birds are found to be placed at the best possible angle for helping on the bird by their action on the air. PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 66b motion of the fish it belonged to, but never to have discovered the whole size and shape of the face part; it would certainly complain of the form as clumsy, and fancy that it could have made the fish so as to move with less resistance. Yet if the whole shape were dis closed to it, and it could discover the principle on which that shape was preferred, it would at once perceive, not only that what had seemed clumsy was skilfully contrived, but that, if any other shape what ever had been taken, there would have been an error committed; nay, that there must of necessity have been an error ; and that the very best possible arrangement had been adopted. So it may be with man in the universe, where, seeing only a part of the great system, he fancies there is evil ; and yet, if he were permitted to survey the whole, what had seemed imperfect might appear to be necessary for the general perfection, insomuch that any other arrangement, even of that seemingly imperfect part, must needs have rendered the whole less perfect. The common objec tion is, that what seems evil might have been avoided ; but in the case of the fish's shape, it could not have been avoided. It is found by optical inquiries, that the particles or rays of light, in passing through transparent substances of a certain form, are bent to a point where they make an image or picture of the shining bodies they come from, or of the dark bodies they are reflected from. Thus, if a pair of spectacles be held between a candle and the wall, they make two images of the candle upon it; and if they be held between the window and a sheet of paper when the sun is shining, they make a picture on the paper of the houses, trees, fields, sky, and clouds, The eye is found to be composed of several natural magnifiers which make a picture on a membrane at the back of it, and from this membrane there goes a nerve to the brain, conveying the impres sion of the picture, by means of which we see. Now, 336 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND white light was discovered by Newton to consist of differently-coloured parts, which are differently bent in passing through transparent substances, so that the lights of several colours come to a point at different distances, and thus create an indistinct image at any one distance. This was long found to make our tele scopes imperfect, insomuch that it became necessary to make them of reflectors or mirrors, and not of magni fying glasses, the same difference not being observed to affect the reflection of light. But another discovery was, about fifty years afterwards, made by Mr. Dollond, — that, by combining different kinds of glass in a compound magnifier, the difference may be greatly corrected ; and on this principle he constructed his telescopes. It is found, too, that the different natural magnifiers of the eye are combined upon a principle of the same kind. Thirty years later, a third discovery was made by Mr. Blair, of the greatly superior effect which combinations of different liquids have in correcting the imperfection ; and, most wonderful to think, when the eye is examined, we find it consists of different liquids, acting naturally upon the same principle which was thus recently found out in optics by many ingenious mechanical and chemical experiments. Again, the point to which any magnifier collects the light is more or less distant as the magnifier is flatter or rounder, so that a small globe of glass or any trans parent substance makes a microscope. And this pro perty of light depends upon the nature of lines, and is purely of a mathematical nature, after we have once ascertained by experiment, that light is bent in a certain way when it passes through transparent bodies. Now birds flying in the air, and meeting with many obstacles, as branches and leaves of trees, require to have their eyes sometimes as flat as possible for protec tion; but sometimes as round as possible, that they may see the small objects, flies and other insects, which PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 337 they are chasing through the air, and which they pursue with the most unerring certainty. This could only be accomplished by giving them a power of suddenly changing the form of their eyes. Accord ingly, there is a set of hard scales placed on the outer coat of their eye, round the place where the light enters; and over these scales are drawn the muscles or fibres by which motion is communicated; so that, by acting with these muscles, the bird can press the scales, and squeeze the natural magnifier of the eye into a round shape when it wishes to follow an insect through the air, and can relax the scales, in order to flatten the eye again, when it would see a distant object, or move safely through leaves and twigs. This power of altering the shape of the eye is possessed by birds of prey in a very remarkable degree. They can thus see the smallest objects close to them, and can yet discern larger bodies at vast distances, as a carcass stretched upon the plain, or a dying fish afloat on the water. A singular provision is made for keeping the surface of the bird's eye clean — for wiping the glass of the instrument, as it were — and also for protecting it, while rapidly flying through the air and through thickets, without hindering the sight. Birds are, for these purposes, furnished with a third eyelid, a fine membrane or skin, which is constantly moved very rapidly over the eyeball by two muscles placed in the back of the eye. One of the muscles ends in a loop, the other in a string which goes through the loop, and is fixed in the corner of the membrane, to pull it backward and forward. If you wish to draw a thing towards any place with the least force, you must pull directly in the line between the thing and the place ; but if you wish to draw it as quickly as possible, and with the most convenience, and do not regard the loss of force, you must pull it obliquely, by drawing it in two directions at once. Tie a string to a stone, and z 338 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND draw it straight towards you with one hand ; then, make a loop on another string, and running the first through it, draw one string in each hand, not towards you, but sideways, till both strings are stretched in a straight line : you will see how much more easily the stone moves quickly than it did before when pulled straight forward. Again, if you tie strings to the two ends of a rod, or slip of card, in a running groove, and bring them to meet and pass through a ring or hole, for every inch in a straight line that you draw both together below the ring, the rod will move onward two. Now this is proved, by mathematical reasoning, to be the necessary consequence of forces applied obliquely : there is a loss of power, but a great gain in velocity and convenience. This is the thing required to be gained in the, third eyelid, and the contrivance is exactly that of a string and a loop, moved each by a muscle, as the two strings are by the hands in the cases we have been supposing. A third eyelid of the same kind is found in the horse, and called the haw ; it is moistened with a pulpy substance (or mucilage) to take hold of the dust on the eyeball, and wipe it clear off ; so that the eye is hardly ever seen with anything upon it, though greatly exposed from its size and posture. The swift motion of the haw is given to it by a gristly elastic substance placed between the eyeball and the socket, and striking obliquely, so as to drive out the haw with great velocity over the eye, and then let it come back as quickly. Ignorant persons, when this haw is in flamed from cold, and swells so as to appear, which it never does in a healthy state, often mistake it for an imperfection, and cut it off: so nearly do ignorance and cruelty produce the same mischief. If any quantity of matter, as a pound of wood or iron, is fashioned into a rod of a certain length, say one foot, the rod will be strong in proportion to its thickness ; and, if the figure is the same, that thick- PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 339 ness can only be increased by making it hollow. Therefore hollow rods or tubes, of the same length and quantity of matter, have more strength than solid ones. This is a principle so well understood now, that engineers make their axles and other parts of machinery hollow, and therefore stronger with the same weight than they would be if thinner and solid. Now the bones of animals are all more or less hollow ; and are therefore stronger with the same weight and quantity of matter than they otherwise would be. But birds have the largest bones in proportion to their weight ; their bones are more hollow than those of animals which do not fly ; and therefore they have the needful strength without having to carry more weight than is absolutely necessary. Their quills derive strength from the same construction. They possess another peculiarity to help their flight. No other animals have any communication between the air- vessels of their lungs and the hollow parts of their bodies ; but birds have it ; and by this means they can blow out their bodies as we do a bladder, and thus become fighter when they would either make their flight towards the ground slower, or rise more swiftly, or float more easily in the air ; while, by lessening their bulk and closing their wings, they can drop more speedily if they wish to chase or to escape. Fishes possess a power of the same kind, though not by the same means. They have air-bladders in their bodies, and can puff them out, or press them closer, at pleasure : when they want to rise in the water, they fill out the bladder, and this lightens them ; when they would sink, they squeeze the bladder, pressing the air into a smaller space, and this makes them heavier. If the bladder breaks, the fish remains at the bottom, and can be held up only by the most laborious exertions of the fins and tail. Accordingly, flat fish, such as skates and flounders, which have no air-bladders, seldom rise from the bottom, but are 340 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND found lying on banks in the sea, or at the bottom of rivers. If you have a certain space, as a room, to fill up with closets or little cells, all of the same size and shape, there are only three figures which will answer, and enable you to fill the room without losing any space between the cells; they must either be squares, or figures of three equal sides, or figures of six equal sides. With any other figures whatever, space would be lost between the cells. This is evident upon considering the matter ; and it is proved by mathematical reason ing. The six-sided figure is by far the most convenient of those three shapes, because its corners are flatter, and any round body placed in it has therefore more space, less room being lost in the corners. This figure, too, is the strongest of the three ; any pressure from without or from within will hurt it least, as it has something of the strength of an arch. A round figure would be still stronger, but then room would be lost between the circles, whereas with the six-sided figure none is lost. Now, it is a most remarkable fact, that Bees build their cells exactly in this shape, and thereby save both room and materials beyond what they could save if they built in any other shape whatever. They build in the very best possible shape for their purpose, which is to save all the room and all the wax they can. So far as to the shape of the walls of each cell ; but the roof and floor, or top and bottom, are built on equally true principles. It is proved by mathema ticians, that, to give the greatest strength, and save the most room, the roof and floor must be made of three square planes meeting in a point; and they have further proved, by a demonstration belonging to the highest parts of Algebra, that there is one particular angle or inclination of those planes to each other where they meet, which makes a greater saving of materials and of work than any other inclination whatever could possibly do. Now, the Bees actually make the tops PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 341 and bottoms of their cells of three planes meeting in a point; and the inclinations or angles at which they meet are precisely those found out by the mathe matician to be the best possible for saving wax and work.* Who would dream of the bee knowing the highest branch of the Mathematics — the fruit of Newton's most wonderful discovery — a result, too, of which he was himself ignorant, one of his most cele brated followers having found it out in a later age? This little insect works with a truth and correctness which are perfect, and according to the principles at which man has arrived only after ages of slow improve ment in the most difficult branch of the most difficult science. But the Mighty and All-wise Creator, who made the insect and the philosopher, bestowing reason on the latter, and giving the former to work without it — to Him all truths are known to all eternity, with an intuition that mocks even the conceptions of the sagest of human kind. It may be recollected, that when the air is exhausted or sucked out of any vessel, there is no longer the force necessary to resist the pressure of the air on the outside; and the sides of the vessels are therefore pressed inwards with violence : a flat glass would thus be broken, unless it were, very thick; a round one, having the strength of an arch, would resist better ; but any soft substance, as leather or skin, would be crushed or squeezed together at once. If the air was only sucked out slowly, the squeezing would be gradual; or, if it were only half sucked out, the skin would only * Koenig, pupil of Bernouilli, and Maclaurin, proved Toy very refined investigations, carried on with the aid of the fluxional calculus, that the obtuse angle must be 109° 28', and the acute 70° 32', to save the most wax and work possible. Maraldi fodnd by actual measurement, that the angles are about 110° and 70°. These angles never vary in any place; and it is scarcely less singular, that the breadth of all bees' cells are everywhere precisely the same, the drone or male cells being -rVtlis and the worker or female cells igths of an inch in breadth, and this in all countries and times. 342 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND be partly squeezed together. This is the process by which Bees reach the fine dust and juices of hollow flowers, like the honeysuckle, and some kinds of long fox-glove, which are too narrow for them to enter. They fill up the mouth of the flower with their bodies, and suck out the air, or at least a large part of it; this makes the soft sides of the flower close, and squeezes the dust and juice towards the insect as well as a hand could do, if applied to the outside. We may remember this pressure or weight of the atmosphere as shown by the barometer and the suck ing-pump. Its weight is near fifteen pounds on every square inch, so that if we could entirely squeeze out the air between our two hands, they would cling together with a force equal to the pressure of double this weight, because the air would press upon both hands ; and if we could contrive to suck or squeeze out the air between one hand and the wall, the hand would stick fast to the wall, being pressed on it with the weight of above two hundredweight, that is, near fifteen pounds on every square inch of the hand. Now, by a late most curious discovery of Sir Everard Home, the distinguished anatomist, it is found that this is the very process by which Flies and other insects of a similar description are enabled to walk up perpen dicular surfaces, however smooth, as the sides of walls and panes of glass in windows, and to walk as easily along the ceiling of a room with their bodies down wards and their feet over head. Their feet, when examined by a microscope, are found to have flat skins or flaps, like the feet of web-footed animals, as ducks and geese; and they have by means of strong folds the power of drawing the flap close down upon the glass or wall the fly walks on, and thus squeezing out the air completely, so as to make a vacuum between the foot and the glass or wall. The consequence of this is, that the air presses the foot on the wall with a very considerable force compared to the weight of the PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 343 fly ; for if its feet are to its body in the same propor tion as ours are to our bodies, since we could support by a single hand on the ceiling of the room (provided it made a vacuum) more than our whole weight, namely, a weight of above fifteen stone, the fly can easily move on four feet in the same manner by help of the vacuum made under its feet. It has likewise been found that some of the larger Sea animals are by the same construction, only upon a greater scale, enabled to climb the perpendicular and smooth surfaces of the ice hills among which they live. Some kinds of Lizard have a like power of climbing, and of creeping with their bodies downwards along the ceiling of a room ; and the means by which they are enabled to do so are the same. In the large feet of those animals, the contrivance is easily observed, of the toes and muscles, by which the skin of the foot is pinned down, and- the air excluded in the act of walking or climbing ; but it is the very same, only upon a larger scale, with the mechanism of a fly's or a butterfly's foot ; and both operations, the climbing of the sea horse on the ice, and the creeping of the fly on the window or the ceiling, are performed exactly by the same power, the weight of the atmosphere, which causes the quicksilver to stand in the weather-glass, the wind to whistle through a key-hole, and the piston to descend in an old steam engine. Although philosophers are not agreed as to the peculiar action which light exerts upon vegetation, and there is even some doubt respecting the decomposition of air and water during that process, one thing is un deniable, — the necessity of light to the growth and health of plants : without it they have neither colour, taste, nor smell; and accordingly they are for the most part so formed as to receive it at all times when it shines on them. Their cups, and the little assem blages of their leaves before they sprout, are found to be more or less affected by the light, so as to open and 344 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND receive it. In several kinds of plants this is more evident than in others ; their flowers close entirely at night, and open in the day. Some constantly turn round towards the liglit, following the sun, as it were, while he makes or seems to make his revolution, so that they receive the greatest quantity possible of his rays. Thus clover in a field follows the apparent course ¦of the sun. But all leaves of plants turn to the sun, place them how you will, light being essential to their thriving. The lightness of inflammable gas is well known. When bladders of any size are filled with it, they rise upwards and float in the air. Now, it is a most curi ous fact, ascertained by Mr. Knight, that the fine dust, by means of which plants are impregnated one from another, is composed of very small globules, filled with this gas — in a word, of small air-balloons. These globules thus float from the male plant through the air, and striking against the females, are detained by a glue prepared on purpose to stop them, which no sooner moistens the globules than they explode, and their substance remains, the gas flying off which enabled them to float. A provision of a very simple kind is also, in some cases, made to prevent the male and female blossoms of the same plant from breeding together, this being found to hurt the breed of vege tables, just as breeding in and in spoils the race of animals. It is contrived that the dust shall be shed by the male blossom before the female of the same plant is ready to be affected by it ; so that the im pregnation must be performed by the dust of some other plant, and in this way the breed be crossed. The light gas with which the globules are filled is most essential to the operation, as it conveys them to great distances. A plantation of yew-trees has been known, in this way, to impregnate another several hundred yards off. The contrivance by which some creeper plants are PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 345 enabled to climb walls, and fix themselves, deserves attention. The Virginia creeper has a small tendril, ending in a claw, each toe of which has a knob, thickly set with extremely small bristles; they grow into the invisible pores of the wall, and swelling, stick there as long as the plant grows, and prevent the branch from falling : but when the plant dies, they become thin again, and drop out, so that the branch falls down. The Vanilla plant of the West Indies climbs round trees likewise by means of tendrils; but when it has fixed itself, the tendrils drop off, and leaves are formed. It is found by chemical experiments, that the juice which is in the stomachs of animals (called the gastric juice, from a Greek word signifying the belly), has very peculiar properties. Though it is for the most part a tasteless, clear, and seemingly a very simple liquor, it nevertheless possesses extraordinary powers of dissolving substances which it touches or mixes with ; and it varies in different classes of animals. In one particular it is the same in all animals ; it will not attack living matter, but only dead ; the consequence of which is, that its powers of eating away and dis solving are perfectly safe to the animals themselves, in whose stomachs it remains without ever hurting them. This juice differs in different animals according to the food on which they subsist; thus, in birds of prey, as kites, hawks, owls, it only acts upon animal matter, and does not dissolve vegetables. In other birds, and in all animals feeding on plants, as oxen, sheep, hares, it dissolves vegetable matter, as grass, but will not touch flesh of any kind. This has been ascertained by making them swallow balls with meat in them, and several holes drilled through to let the gastric justice reach the meat : no effect was produced upon it. We may further observe, that there is a most curious and beautiful correspondence between 346 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND this juice in the stomach of different animals and the other parts of their bodies, connected with the impor tant operations of eating and digesting their food. The use of the juice is plainly to convert what they eat into a fluid, from which, by various other pro cesses, all their parts, blood, bones, muscles, &c, are afterwards formed. But the food is first of all to be obtained, and then prepared by bruising, for the action of the juice. Now birds of prey have instru ments, their claws and beaks, for tearing and devour ing their food (that is, animals of various kinds), but those instruments are useless for picking up and crush ing seeds ; accordingly they have a gastric juice which dissolves the animals they eat ; while birds which have only a beak fit for picking, and eating seeds, have a juice that dissolves seeds, and not flesh. Nay more, it is found that the seeds must be bruised before the juice will dissolve them : this you find by trying the experiment in a vessel with the juice; and accord ingly the birds have a gizzard, and animals which graze have flat teeth, which grind and bruise their food, before the gastric juice is to act upon it. We have seen how wonderfully the Bee works, according to rules discovered by man thousands of years after the insect had been following them with perfect accuracy. The same little animal seems to be acquainted with principles of which we are still ignorant. We can, by crossing, vary the forms of cattle with astonishing nicety ; but we have no means of altering the nature of an animal once born, by means of treatment and feeding. This power, how ever, is undeniably possessed by the bees. When the queen bee is lost by death or otherwise, they choose a grub from among those which are born for workers ; they make three cells into one, and placing the grub there, they build a tube round it; they afterwards build another cell of a pyramidal form, into which the grub grows ; they feed it with peculiar food, and PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 347 tend it with extreme care. It becomes, when trans formed from the worm to the fly, not a worker, but a queen bee. These singular insects resemble our own species in one of our worst propensities, the disposition to war ; but their attention to their sovereign is equally extra ordinary, though of a somewhat capricious kind. In a few hours after their queen is lost, the whole hive is in a state of confusion. A singular humming is heard, and the bees are seen moving all over the surface of the combs with great rapidity. The news spreads quickly, and when the queen is restored, quiet immediately succeeds. But if another queen is put upon them, they instantly discover the trick, and, surrounding her, they either suffocate or starve her to death. This happens if the false queen is intro duced within a few hours after the first is lost or removed ; but if twenty-four hours have elapsed, they will receive any queen and obey her. The labours and the policy of the Ants are, when closely examined, still more wonderful, perhaps, than those of the Bees. Their nest is a city consisting of dwelling-places, halls, streets, and squares into which the streets open. The food they principally like is the honey which comes from another insect found in their neighbourhood, and which they, generally speak ing, bring home from day to day as they want it. Late discoveries have shown that they do not eat grain, but live almost entirely on animal food and this honey. Some kinds of ants have the foresight to bring home the insects on whose honey they feed, and keep them in particular cells, where they guard them to prevent their escaping, and feed them with proper vegetable matter which they do not eat themselves. Nay, they obtain the eggs of those insects, and super intend their hatching, and then rear the young insect until he becomes capable of supplying the desired honey. They sometimes remove them to the strongest 348 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND parts of their nest, where there are cells apparently fortified for protecting them from invasion. In those cells the insects are kept to supply the wants of the whole ants which compose the population of the city. It is a most singular circumstance in the economy of nature, that the degree of cold at which the ant becomes torpid is also that at which this insect falls into the same state. It is considerably below the freezing-point; so that they require food the greater part of the winter, and if the insects on which they depend for food were not kept alive during the cold in which the ants can move about, the latter would be without the means of subsistence. How trifling soever this little animal may appear in our climate, there are few more formidable crea tures than the ant of some tropical countries. A traveller, who lately filled a high station in the French government, Mr. Malouet, has described one of their cities, and, were not the account confirmed by various testimonies, it might seem exaggerated. He observed at a great distance what seemed a lofty structure, and was informed by his guide that it consisted of an ant hill, which could not be approached without danger of being devoured. Its height was from fifteen to twenty feet, and its base thirty or forty feet square. Its sides inclined like the lower part of a pyramid, the point being cut off. He was informed that it became neces sary to destroy these nests, by raising a sufficient force to dig a trench all round, and fill it with fagots, which were afterwards set on fire ; and then "battering with cannon from a distance, to drive the insects out and make them run into the flames. This was in South America ; and African travellers have met them in the same formidable numbers and strength. The older writers of books upon the habits of some animals abound with stories which may be of doubtful credit. But the facts now stated, respecting the Ant and Bee, may be relied on as authentic. They are the PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 349 result of very late observations, and experiments made with great accuracy by several most worthy and in telligent men ; and the greater part of them have the confirmation arising from more than one observer having assisted in the inquiries.* The habits of Beavers are equally well authenticated, and, being more easily observed, are vouched by a greater number of witnesses. These animals, as if to enable them to live and move either on land or water, have two web-feet like those of ducks or water-dogs, and two like those of land animals. When they wish to construct a dwelling-place, or rather city, for it serves the whole body, they choose a level ground with a stream running through it ; they then dam up the stream so as to make a pond, and perform the opera tion as skilfully as we could ourselves. Next they drive into the ground stakes of five or six feet long in rows, wattling each row with twigs, and puddling or filling the interstices with clay, which they ram close in, so as to make the whole solid and water-tight. This dam is likewise shaped on the truest principles ; for the upper side next the water slopes, and the side below is perpendicular ; the base of the dam is ten or twelve feet thick ; the top or narrow part two or three, and it is sometimes as long as one hundred feet.f The * A singular circumstance occasioned this in the case of Mr. Huber, by far the most eminent of these naturalists : he was quite blind, and per formed all his experiments by means of assistants. f If the base is twelve, and the top three feet thick, and the height six feet, the face must be the side of a right-angled triangle whose height is eight feet. This would be the exact proportion which there ought to be, upon mathematical principles, to give the greatest resistance possible to the water in its tendency to turn the dam round, provided the materials of which it is made were lighter than water in the proportion of 44 to 100. But the materials are probably more than twice as heavy as water, and the form of so flat a dike is taken, in all likelihood, in order to guard against a more imminent danger — that of the dam being carried away by being shoved forwards. We cannot calculate what the proportions are which give the greatest possible resistance to this tendency, without knowing the lenacity of the materials, as well as their specific gravity. It may very probably be found that the construction is such as to secure the most completely against the two pressures at the same time. 350 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND pond being thus formed and secured, they make their houses round the edge of it ; they are cells, with vaulted roofs, and upon piles : they are made of stones, earth, and sticks ; the walls are two feet thick, and plastered as neatly as if the trowel had been used. Sometimes they have two or three storeys for retreating to in case of floods ; and they always have two doors, one towards the water and one towards the land. They keep their winter provisions in stores, and bring them out to use ; they make their beds of moss ; they live on the bark of trees, gum, and crawfish. Each house holds from twenty to thirty, and there may be from ten to twenty-five houses in all. Some of their com munities are larger than others, but there are seldom fewer than two or three hundred inhabitants. In working they all bear their shares ; some gnaw the trees and branches with their teeth to form stakes and beams ; others roll the pieces to the water ; others, diving, make holes with their teeth to place the piles in ; others collect and carry stones and clay ; others beat and mix the mortar ; and others carry it on their broad tails, and with these beat it and plaster it. Some superintend the rest, and make signals by sharp strokes with the tail, which are carefully attended to ; the beavers hastening to the place where they are wanted to work, or to repair any hole made by the water, or to defend themselves or make their escape, when attacked by an enemy. The fitness of different animals, by their bodily structure, to the circumstances in which they are found, presents an endless subject of curious inquiry and pleasing contemplation. Thus, the Camel, which lives in sandy deserts, has broad spreading hoofs to support him on the loose soil ; and an apparatus in his body by which water is kept for many days, to be used when no moisture can be had. As this would be useless in the neighbourhood of streams or wells, and as it would be equally so in the desert, where no water is to PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 351 be found, there can be no doubt that it is intended to assist in journeying across the sands from one watered spot to another. There is a singular and beautiful provision made in this animal's foot, for enabling it to sustain the fatigue of journeys under the pressure of its great weight. Besides the yielding of the bones and ligaments, or bindings, which gives elasticity to the foot of the deer and other animals, there is in the Camel's foot, between the horny sole and the bones, a cushion, like a ball, of soft matter, almost fluid, but in which there is a mass of threads extremely elastic, interwoven with the pulpy substance. The cushion thus easily changes its shape when pressed, yet it has such an elastic spring, that the bones of the foot press on it uninjured by the heavy body which they support, and this huge animal steps as softly as a cat. Nor need we flee to the desert in order to witness an example of skilful structure : the limbs of the Horse display it strikingly. The bones of the foot are not placed directly under the weight ; if they were in an upright position, they would make a firm pillar, and every motion would cause a shock. They are placed slanting or oblique, and tied together by an elastic binding on their lower surfaces, so as to form springs as exact as those which we make of leather and steel for carriages. Then the flatness of the hoof, which stretches out on each side, and the frog coming down in the middle between the quarters, adds greatly to the elasticity of the machine. Ignorant of this, ill- informed farriers nail the shoe in such a manner as to fix the quarters, and cause permanent contraction of the bones, ligaments, and hoof — so that the elasticity is destroyed ; every step is a shock ; inflammation and lameness ensue.* The Rein-deer inhabits a country covered with snow * Mr. Bracey Clarke has contrived an expanding shoe, which, by a joint in front, opens and contracts so as to obviate the evils of the common process. 352 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND the greater part of the year. Observe how admirably its hoof is formed for going over that cold and light substance, without sinking in it or being frozen. The under side is covered entirely with hair, of a warm and close texture ; and the hoof, altogether, is very broad, acting exactly like the snow-shoes which men have constructed for giving them a larger' space to stand on than their feet, and thus avoid sinking. Moreover, the deer spreads the hoof as wide as pos sible when it touches the ground : but, as this breadth would be inconvenient in the air, by occasioning a greater resistance while he is moving along, no sooner does he lift the hoof than the two parts into which it is cloven fall together, and so lessen the surface exposed to the air, just as we may recollect the birds doing with their bodies and wings. The shape and structure of the hoof are also well adapted to scrape away the snow, and enable the animal to get at the particular kind of moss (or lichen) on which he feeds. This plant, unlike others, is in its full growth during the winter season ; and the Rein-deer accordingly thrives, from its abundance, at the season of his greatest use to man, notwithstanding the unfavourable effects of extreme cold upon the animal system. There are some insects, of which the males have wings, and the females are grubs or worms. Of these, the Glow-worm is the most remarkable : it is the female, and the male is a fly, which would be unable to find her out, creeping as she does in the dark lanes, but for the shining light which she gives to attract him. There is a singular fish found in the Mediterranean, called the Nautilus, from its skill in navigation. The back of its shell resembles the hulk of a ship ; on this it throws itself, and spreads two thin membranes to serve for two sails, paddling itself on with its feet or feelers, as oars. The Ostrich lays and hatches her eggs in the sands : her form being ill-adapted for sitting on them, she has PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 353 a natural oven furnished by the sand, and the strong heat of the sun. The Cuckoo is known to build no nest for herself, but to lay in the nests of other birds ; but late observations show that she does not lay indis criminately in the nests of all birds ; she only chooses the nests of those which have bills of the same kind with herself, and therefore feed on the same kind of food. The Duck, and other birds breeding in muddy places, have a peculiar formation of the bill : it is both made so as to act like a strainer, separating the finer from the grosser parts of the liquid, and it is more furnished with nerves near the point than the bills of birds which feed on substances more exposed to the light ; so that being more sensitive, it serves better to grope in the dark stream for food. The bill of the Snipe is covered with a curious network of nerves for the same purpose ; but the most singular provision of this kind is observed in a bird called the Toucan, or Egg-sucker, which chiefly feeds on the eggs found in birds' nests, and in countries where these are very deep and dark. Its bill is broad and long; when examined, it appears completely covered with branches of nerves in all directions ; so that, by groping in a deep and dark nest it can feel its way as accurately as the finest and most delicate finger could. Almost all kinds of birds build their nests of materials found where they inhabit, or use the nests of other birds; but the Swallow of Java lives in rocky caverns on the sea, where there are no materials at all for the pur pose of building. It is therefore so formed as to, secrete in its body a kind of slime with which it makes a nest, much prized as a delicate food in Eastern countries. Plants, in many remarkable instances, are provided for by equally wonderful and skilful contrivances. There is one, the Muscipula, Fly-trap, or Fly catcher, which has small prickles in the inside of two leaves, or half leaves, joined by a hinge ; a juice or syrup is provided on their inner surface, which acts as 2 a 354 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND a bait to allure flies. There are several small spines or prickles standing upright in this syrup, and upon the only part of each leaf that is sensitive to the touch. When the fly, therefore, settles upon this part, its touching, as it were, the spring of the trap, occasions the leaves to shut and kill and squeeze the insect; whose juices and the air arising from their rotting serve as food to the plant. In the West Indies, and in other hot countries of South America, where rain sometimes does not fall for a great length of time, a kind of plant called the Wild-pine grows upon the branches of the trees, and also on the bark of the trunk. It has hollow or bag- like, leaves so formed as to make little reservoirs of water, the rain falling into them through channels which close at the top when full, and prevent it from evaporating. The seed of this useful plant has small floating threads, by which, when carried through the air, it catches any tree in the way, and falls on it and grows. Wherever it takes root, though on the under side of a bough, it grows straight upwards, otherwise the leaves would not hold water. It holds in one leaf from a pint to a quart; and although it must be of great use to the trees it grows on, to birds and other animals its use is even greater. , "When we find these pines," says Dampier, the famous navigator, " we stick our knives into the leaves just above the root, and the water gushing out, we catch it in our hats, as I myself have frequently done to my great relief." Another tree, called the Water-with, in Jamaica, has similar uses : it is like a vine in size and shape, and though growing in parched districts, is yet so full of clear sap or water, that by cutting a piece two or three yards long, and merely holding it to the mouth, a plentiful draught is obtained. In the East there is a plant somewhat of the same kind, called the Bejuco, which grows near other trees and twines round them, PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 355 with its end hanging downwards, but so full of juice, that, on cutting it, a good stream of water spouts from it; and this, not only by the stalk touching the tree so closely must refresh it, but affords a supply to animals, and to the weary herdsman on the mountains. Another plant, the Nepenthes distillatoria, is found in the same regions, with a yet more singular structure. It has natural mugs or tankards hanging from its leaves, and holding each from a pint to a quart of very pure water. Two singular provisions are to be marked in this vegetable. There grows over the mouth of the tankard, a leaf nearly its size and shape, like a lid or cover, which prevents evaporation from the sun's rays; and the water that fills the tankard is perfectly sweet and clear, although the ground in which the plant grows is a marsh of the most muddy and unwholesome kind. The process of vegetation filtrates or distils the liquid, so as to produce from the worst, the purest water.* The Palo de Vaca, or cow- tree, grows in South America, upon the most dry and rocky soil, and in a climate where for months not a drop of rain falls. On piercing the trunk, however, a sweet and nourishing milk is obtained, which the natives gladly receive in large bowls. If some plants thus furnish drink, where it might least be expected, others prepare, as it were, in the desert, the food of man in abundance. A single Tapioca tree is said to afford, from its pith, the whole sustenance of several men for a season. V. ADVANTAGES AND PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. After the many instances or samples which have now been given of the nature and objects of Natural Science, we might proceed to a different field, and describe in the same way the other grand branch of human knowledge, that which teaches the properties * A specimen of this curious plant, though of a small size, is to be fouud in the fine collection at Wentworth, reared by Mr. Cooper. 356 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND or habits of Mind — the intellectual faculties of man, or the powers of his understanding, by which he per ceives, imagines, remembers, and reasons ; — his moral faculties, or the feelings and passions which influence him ; and, lastly, as a conclusion or result drawn from the whole, his duties both towards himself as an indi vidual, and towards others as a member of society : which last head opens to our view the whole doctrines of political science, including the nature of govern ments, of policy, and generally of laws. But we shall abstain at present from entering at all upon this field, and shall now take up the subject more particularly pointed at through the course of the foregoing obser vations, and to illustrate which they have been framed, namely, — the Use and Pleasure of Scientific Studies. Man is composed of two parts, body and mind, connected indeed together, but wholly different from one another. The nature of the union — the part of our outward and visible frame in which it is peculiarly formed — or whether the soul be indeed connected or not with any particular portion of the body, so as to reside there— are points as yet wholly hid from our knowledge, and which are likely to remain for ever concealed. But this we know, as certainly as we can know any truth, that there is such a thing as the Mind; and that we have at the least as good proof of its existence, independent of the Body, as we have of the existence of the Body itself. Each has its uses, and each has its peculiar gratifications. The bounty of Providence has given us outward senses to be employed, and has furnished the means of gratifying them in various kind, and in ample measure. As long as we only taste those pleasures according to the rules of prudence and of our duty, that is, in moderation for our own sakes, and in harmlessness towards our neighbours, we fulfil rather than thwart the purpose of our being. But the same bountiful Providence has endowed us with the higher nature PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 357 also — with understandings as well as with senses — with faculties that are of a more exalted order, and admit of more refined enjoyments, than any to which the bodily fame can minister ; and by pursuing such gratifications, rather than those of mere sense, we fulfil the most exalted ends of our creation, and obtain both a present and a future reward. These things are often said, but they are not therefore the less true or the less worthy of deep attention. Let us mark their practical application to the occupations and enjoyments of all branches of society, beginning with those who form the great bulk of every community, the working classes, by what names soever their vocations mav be called — professions, arts, trades, handicrafts, or com mon labour. 1. The first object of every man who has to depend upon his own exertions must needs be to provide for his daily wants. This is a high and important office ; it deserves his utmost attention; it includes some of his most sacred duties, both to himself, his kindred, and his country; and although in performing this task, he is only influenced by a regard to his own interest, or by his necessities, yet it is an employment which renders him truly the best benefactor of the community he belongs to. All other pursuits must give way to this ; the hours which he devotes to learning must be after he has done his work ; his independence, without which he is not fit to be called a man, requires first of all that he should have insured for himself, and those dependent on him, a comfortable subsistence before he can have a right to taste any indulgence, either of his senses or of his mind ; and the more he learns — the greater progress he makes in the sciences — the more will he value that indepen dence, and the more will he prize the industry, the habits of regular labour, whereby he is enabled to secure so prime a blessing. In one view, it is true, the progress which he makes 358 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND in science may help his ordinary exertions, the main business of every man's life. There is hardly any trade or occupation in which useful lessons may not be learnt by studying one science or another. The necessity of science to the more liberal professions is self-evident; little less manifest is the use to their members of extending their knowledge beyond the branches of study with which their several pursuits are peculiarly conversant. But the other depart ments of industry derive hardly less benefit from the same source. To how many kinds of workmen must a knowledge of Mechanical Philosophy be useful ! To how many others does Chemistry prove almost neces sary ! Every one must with a glance perceive that to engineers, watch-makers, instrument-makers, bleach ers, and dyers, those sciences are most useful, if not necessary. But carpenters and masons are surely likely to do their work better for knowing how to measure, which Practical Mathematics teaches them, and how to estimate the strength of timber, of walls, and of arches, which they learn from Practical Me chanics ; and they who work in various metals are cer tain to be the more skilful in their trades for knowing the nature of those substances, and their relations to both heat and Other metals, and to the airs and liquids they come in contact with. Nay, the farm servant, or day-labourer, whether in his master's employ, or tending the concerns of his own cottage, must de rive great practical benefit, — must be both a better servant, and a more thrifty, and therefore comfort able cottager, for knowing something of the nature of soils and manures, which Chemistry teaches, and something of the habits of animals, and the qualities and growth of plants, which he learns from Natural History and Chemistry together. In truth, though a man be neither mechanic nor peasant, but only having a pot to boil, he is sure to learn from science lessons which will enable him to cook his PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 359 morsel better, save his fuel, and both vary his dish and improve it. The art of good and cheap cookery is intimately connected with the principles of chemical philosophy, and has received much and will yet receive more, improvement from their application. Nor is it enough to say, that philosophers may discover all that is wanted, and may invent practical methods, which it is sufficient for the working man to learn by rote without knowing the principles. He never will work so well if he is ignorant of the principles ; and for a !)lain reason : — if he only learn his lesson by rote, the east change of circumstances puts him out. Be the method ever so general, cases will always arise in whieh it must be varied in order to apply ; and if the workman only knows the rule without knowing the reason, he must be at fault the moment he is required to make any new application of it. This, then, is the first use of learning the principles of science : it makes men more skilful, expert, and useful in the particular kinds of work by which they are to earn their bread, and by which they are to make it go far and taste well when earned. 2. But another use of such knowledge to handicrafts men is equally obvious : it gives every man a chance, according to his natural talents, of becoming an im prover of the art he works at, and even a discoverer in the sciences connected with it. He is daily handling the tools and materials with which new experiments are to be made : and daily witnessing the operations of na ture, whether in the motions and pressures of bodies, or in their chemical actions on each other. All oppor tunities of making experiments must be unimproved, all appearances must pass unobserved, if he has no knowledge of the principles ; but with this knowledge he is more likely than another person to strike out something new which may be useful in art, or curious or interesting in science. Very few great discoveries have been made by chance and by ignorant persons, 360 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND much fewer than is generally supposed. It is com monly told of the steam engine, that an idle boy being employed to stop and open a valve, saw that he could save himself the trouble of attending and watching it, by fixing a plug upon a part of the machine which came to the place at the proper times, in consequence of the general movement. This is possible, no doubt ; though nothing very certain is known respecting the origin of the story ; but improvements of any value are very seldom indeed so easily found out, and hardly another instance can be named of important discoveries so purely accidental. They are generally made by persons of competent knowledge, and who are in search of them. The improvements of the Steam engine by Watt resulted from the most learned investigation of mathematical, mechanical, and chemical truths. Ark- wright devoted many years, five at the least, to his invention of spinning-jennies, and he was a man per fectly conversant in everything that relates to the construction of machinery ; he had minutely examined it, and knew the effects of each part, though he had not received anything hke a scientific education. If he had, we should in all probability have been indebted to him for scientific discoveries as well as practical improvements. The most beautiful and useful inven tion of late times, the Safety-lamp, was the reward of a series of philosophical experiments made by one thoroughly skilled in every branch of chemical science. The new process of Refining Sugar, by which more money has been made in a shorter time, and with less . risk and trouble, than was ever perhaps gained from an invention, was discovered by a most accomplished chemist,* and was the fruit of a long course of experi ments, in the progress of which, known philosophical principles were constantly applied, and one or two new principles ascertained. But in so far as chance * Edward Howard, brother of the Duke of Norfolk. PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 361 has anything to do with discovery, surely it is worth the while of those who are constantly working in particular employments to obtain the knowledge re quired, because their chances are greater than other people's of so applying that knowledge as to hit upon new and useful ideas: they are always in the way of perceiving what is wanting, or what is amiss in the old methods ; and they have a better chance of making the improvements. In a word, to use a common ex pression, they are in the way of good luck ; and if they possess the requisite information, they can take advantage of it when it comes to them. This, then, is the second great use of learning the sciences : it enables men to make improvements in the arts, and discoveries in philosophy, which may directly benefit themselves and mankind. 3. Now, these are the practical advantages of learning ; but the third benefit is, when rightly con sidered, just as practical as the other two — the pleasure derived from mere knowledge, without any view to our own bodily enjoyments : and this applies to all classes, the idle as well as the industrious, if, indeed, it be not peculiarly applicable to those who enjoy the inestimable blessing of having time at their command. Every man is by nature endowed with the power of gaining knowledge ; and the taste for it, the capacity to be pleased with it, forms equally a part of the natural constitution of his mind. It is his own fault, or the fault of his education, if he derives no gratifica tion from it. There is a satisfaction in knowing what others know — in not being more ignorant than those we live with : there is a satisfaction in knowing what others do not know — in being more informed than they are. But this is quite independent of the pure pleasure of knowledge — of gratifying a curiosity im planted in us by Providence, to lead us towards the better understanding of the universe in which our lot is cast, and the nature wherewithal we are clothed. 362 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND That every man is capable of being delighted with extending his information upon matters of science will be evident from a few plain considerations. Reflect how many parts of the reading, even of persons ignorant of all sciences, refer to matters wholly unconnected with any interest or advantage to be derived from the knowledge acquired. Every one is amused with reading a story : a romance may divert some, and a fairy tale may entertain others ; but no benefit beyond the amusement is derived from this source : the imagination is gratified ; and we willingly spend a good deal of time and a little money in this gratification, rather than in resting after fatigue, or in any other bodily indulgence. So we read a newspaper, without any view to the advantage we are to gain from learning the news, but because it interests and amuses us to know what is passing. One object, no doubt, is to become acquainted with matters relating to the welfare of the country ; but we also read the occur rences which do little or not all regard the public interests, and we take a pleasure in reading them. Accidents, adventures, anecdotes, crimes, and a variety of other things amuse us, independent of the informs tion respecting public affairs, in which we feel interested as citizens of the state, or as members of a particular body. It is of little importance to inquire how and why these things excite our attention, and wherefore the reading about them is a pleasure; the fact is certain ; and it proves clearly that there is a positive enjoyment in knowing what we did not know before ; and this pleasure is greatly increased when the infor mation is such as excites our surprise, wonder, or admiration. Most persons who take delight in reading tales of ghosts, which they know to be false, and feel all the while to be silly in the extreme, are merely gratified, or rather occupied with the strong emotions of horror excited by the momentary belief, for it can only last an instant. Such reading is a degrading PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 363 waste of precious time, and has even a bad effect upon the feelings and the judgment.* But true stories of horrid crimes, as murders, and pitiable misfortunes, as shipwrecks, are not much more instructive. It may be better to read these than to sit yawning and idle — much better than to sit drinking or gaming, which, when carried to the least excess, are crimes in them selves, and the fruitful parents of many more. But this is nearly as much as can be said for such vain and unprofitable reading. If it be a pleasure to gratify curiosity, to know what we were ignorant of, to have our feelings of wonder called forth, how pure a delight of this very kind does Natural Science hold out to its students! Recollect some of the extraordinary dis coveries of Mechanical Philosophy. How wonderful are the laws that regulate the motions of fluids ! Is there anything in all the idle books of tales and horrors more truly astonishing than the fact, that a few pounds of water may, by mere pressure, without any machinery — by merely being placed in a particular way, produce an irresistible force? What can be more strange, than that an ounce weight should balance hundreds of pounds, by the intervention of a few bars of thin iron? Observe the extraordinary truths which Optical Science discloses. Can anything surprise us more, than to find that the colour of white is a mixture of all others — that red, and blue, and green, and all the rest, merely by being blended in certain proportions, form what we had fancied rather to be no colour at all, than all colours together? Chemistry is not behind in its wonders. That the diamond should be made of the same material with coal; that water should be chiefly composed of an * Children's boohs have at all times been made upon the pernicious plan of exciting wonder, generally horror, at whatever risk. The folly and misery occasioned by this error, it would be difficult to estimate. The time may come when it will be felt and understood. At present, the inveterate habits of parents and nurses prevent the children from benefiting by the excellent lessons of Mis. Barbauld and Miss Edgeworth. 364 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND inflammable substance; that acids should be, for the most part, formed of different kinds of air, and that one of those acids, whose strength can dissolve almost any of the metals, should consist of the self-same in gredients with the common air we breathe ; that salts should be of a metallic nature, and composed, in great part, of metals, fluid like quicksilver, but lighter than water, and which, without any heating, take fire upon being exposed to the air, and by burning, form the substance so abounding in saltpetre and in the ashes of burnt wood : these, surely, are things to excite the wonder of any reflecting mind^-nay, of any one but little accustomed to reflect. And yet these are trifling when compared to the prodigies which Astronomy opens to our view : the enormous masses of " the heavenly bodies ; their immense distances ; their countless numbers, and their motions, whose swiftness mocks the uttermost efforts of the imagination. Akin to this pleasure of contemplating new and extraordinary truths, is the gratification of a more learned curiosity, by tracing resemblances and rela tions between things, which, to common apprehension, seem widely different. Mathematical science to think ing minds affords this pleasure in a high degree. It is agreeable to know that the three angles of every triangle, whatever be its size, howsoever its sides may be inclined to each other, are always, of necessity, when taken together, the same in amount: that any regular kind of figure whatever, upon the one side of a right-angled triangle, is equal to the two figures of the same kind upon the two other sides, whatever be the size of the triangle : that the properties of an oval curve are extremely similar to those of a curve which appears the least like it of any, consisting of two branches of infinite extent, with their backs turned to each other. To trace such unexpected resemblances is, indeed, the object of all philosophy ; and experi mental science, in particular, is occupied with such PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 365 investigations, giving us general views, and enabling us to explain the appearances of nature, that is, to show how one appearance is connected with another. But we are now considering only the gratification derived from learning these things. It is surely a satisfaction, for instance, to know that the same thing, or motion, or whatever it is, which causes the sensa tion of heat, causes also fluidity, and expands bodies in all directions ; that electricity, the fight which is seen on the back of a cat when slightly rubbed on a frosty evening, is the very same matter with the lightning of the clouds; — that plants breathe like ourselves, but differently by day and by night ; — that the air which burns in our lamps enables a balloon to mount, and causes the globules of the dust of plants to rise, float through the air, and continue their race — in a word, is the immediate cause of vegetation. Nothing can at first view appear less like, or less likely to be caused by the same thing, than the processes of burning and of breathing, — the rust of metals and burning, — an acid and rust, — the influence of a plant on the air it grows in by night, and of an animal on the same air at any time, nay, and of a body burning in that air ; and yet all these are the same operation. It is an undeniable fact, that the very same thing which makes the fire burn, makes metals rust, forms acids, and enables plants and animals to breathe; that these operations, so unlike to common eyes, when examined by the fight of science are the same, — the rusting of metals, — the formation of acids, — the burning of in flammable bodies, — the breathing of animals, — and the growth of plants by night. To know this is a positive gratification. Is it not pleasing to find the same sub stance in various situations extremely unlike each other; — to meet with fixed air as the produce of burning, of breathing, and of vegetation ; — to find that it is the choke-damp of mines, the bad air in the grotto at Naples, the cause of death in neglecting brewers' 366 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND vats, and of the brisk and acid flavour of Seltzer and other mineral springs ? Nothing can be less like than the working of a vast steam engine, of the old con struction, and the crawling of a fly upon the window. Yet we find that these two operations are performed by the same means, the weight of the atmosphere, and that a sea-horse climbs the ice-hills by no other power. Can anything be more strange to contemplate ? Is there in all the fairy tales that ever were fancied anything more calculated to arrest the attention and to - occupy and to gratify the mind, than this most unexpected resemblance between things so unlike to the eyes of ordinary beholders ? What more pleasing- occupation than to see uncovered and bared before our eyes the very instrument and the process by which Nature works? Then we raise our views to the structure of the heavens ; and are again gratified with tra'cing accurate but most unexpected resemblances. Is it not in the highest degree interesting to find, that the power which keeps this earth in its shape, and in its path, wheeling upon its axis and round the sun, extends over all the other worlds that compose the universe, and gives to each its proper place and motion ; that this same power keeps the moon in her path round our earth, and our earth in its path round the sun, and each planet in its path; that the same power causes the tides upon our globe, and the peculiar form of the globe itself; and that, after all, it is the same power which makes a stone fall to the ground ? To learn these things, and to reflect upon them, occupies the faculties, fills the mind, and produces certain as well as pure gratification. But if the knowledge of the doctrines unfolded by science is pleasing, so is the being able to trace the steps by which those doctrines are investigated, and their truth demonstrated : indeed you cannot be said, in any sense of the word, to have learnt them, or to know them, if you have not so studied them as to per- PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 367 ceive how they are proved. Without this you never can expect to remember them long, or to understand them accurately; and that would of itself be reason enough for examining closely the grounds they rest on. But there is the highest gratification of all, in being able to see distinctly those grounds, so as to be satisfied that a belief in the doctrines is well founded. Hence to follow a demonstration of a grand mathematical truth — to perceive how clearly and how inevitably one step succeeds another, and how the whole steps lead to the conclusion — to observe how certainly and unerringly the reasoning goes on from things perfectly self-evident, and by the smallest addition at each step, every one being as easily taken after the one before as the first step of all was, and yet the result being something not only far from self-evident, but so general and strange, that you can hardly believe it to be true, and are only convinced of it by going over the whole reasoning — this operation of the understanding, to those who so exercise themselves, always affords the highest delight. The contemplation of experimental inquiries, and the examination of reasoning founded upon the facts which our experiments and observations disclose, is another fruitful source of enjoyment, and no other means can be devised for either imprinting the results upon our memory, or enabling us really to enjoy the whole pleasures of science. They who found the study of some branches dry and tedious at the first, have generally become more and more interested as they went on ; each difficulty overcome gives an addi tional relish to the pursuit, and makes us feel, as it were, that we have by our work and labour established a right of property in the subject. Let any man pass an evening in vacant idleness, or even in reading some silly tale, and compare tbe state of his mind when he goes to sleep or gets up next morning with its state some other day when he has passed a few hours in going through the proofs, by facts and reasoning, of 368 OBJECTS, ADVANTAGES, AND some of the great doctrines in Natural Science, learning truths wholly new to him, and satisfying himself by careful examination of the grounds on which known truths rest, so as to be not only acquainted with the doctrines themselves, but able to show why he believes them, and to prove before others that they are true; — he will find as great a difference as can exist in the same being, — the difference between look ing back upon time unprofitably wasted, and time spent in self-improvement : he will feel himself in the one case listless and dissatisfied, in the other comfortable and happy: in the one case, if he do not appear to himself humbled, at least he will not have earned any claim to his own respect; in the other case, he will enjoy a proud consciousness of having, by his own exertions, become a wiser, and therefore a more exalted creature. To pass our time in the study of the sciences, in learning what others have discovered, and in extend ing the bounds of human knowledge, has, in all ages, been reckoned the most dignified and happy of human occupations; and the name of Philosopher, or Lover of Wisdom, is given to those who lead such a life. But it is by no means necessary that a man should do nothing else than study known truths, and explore new, in order to earn this high title. Some of the greatest philosophers, in all ages, have been engaged in the pursuits of active life ; and an assiduous devotion of the bulk of our time to the work which our condition requires, is an important duty, and indicates the pos session of practical wisdom. This, however, does by no means hinder us from applying the rest of our time, beside what nature requires for meals and rest, to the study of science ; and he who, in whatever station his lot may be cast, works his day's work, and improves his mind in the evening, as well as he who, placed above such necessity, prefers the refined and elevating pleasures of knowledge to the low gratification of the senses, richly deserves the name of a True Philosopher. PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 369 One of the most delightful treats which science affords us is the knowledge of the extraordinary powers with which the human mind is endowed. No man, until he has studied philosophy, can have a just idea of the great things for which Providence has fitted his understanding — the extraordinary dispropor tion which there is between his natural strength and the powers of his mind and the force he derives from them. When we survey the marvellous truths of Astronomy, we are first of all lost in the feeling of immense space, and of the comparative insignificance of this globe and its inhabitants. But there soon arises a sense of gratification and of new wonder at perceiving how so insignificant a creature has been able to reach such a knowledge of the unbounded system of the universe — to penetrate, as it were, through all space, and become familiar with the laws of nature at distances so enormous as to baffle our imagination — to be able to say, not merely that the Sun has 329,630 times the quantity of matter which our globe has, Jupiter 308T9o, and Saturn 93^ times ; but that a pound of lead weighs at the Sun 22 lbs. 15 ozs. 16 dwts. 8 grs. and f of a grain ! at Jupiter 2 lbs. 1 oz. 19 dwts. 1 gr. f£ ; and at Saturn 1 lb. 3 ozs. 8 dwts. 20 grs. it part of a grain ! And what is far more wonderful, to discover the laws by which the whole of this vast system is held together and main tained through countless ages in perfect security and order. It is surely no mean reward of our labour to become acquainted with the prodigious genius of those who have almost exalted the nature of man above its destined sphere, when, admitted to a fellowship with these loftier minds, we discover how it eomes to pass that, by universal consent, they hold a station apart, rising over all the Great Teachers of mankind, and spoken of reverently, as if Newton and Laplace were not the names of mortal men. The highest of all our gratifications in the eontem- 2 B 370 PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. plations of science remains ; we are raised by them to an understanding of the infinite wisdom and goodness which the Creator has displayed in his works. Not a step can we take in any direction without perceiving the most extraordinary traces of design ; and the skill everywhere conspicuous is calculated, in so vast a pro portion of instances, to promote the happiness of living creatures, and especially of our own kind, that we can feel no hesitation in concluding that, if we knew the whole scheme of Providence, every part would be found in harmony with a plan of absolute benevolence. Independently, however, of this most consoling infer ence, the delight is inexpressible of being able to follow, as it were, with our eyes, the marvellous works of the Great Architect of Nature — to trace the unbounded power and exquisite skill which are exhibited in the most minute, as well as the mightiest parts of his system. The pleasure derived from this study is unceasing, and so various, that it never tires the appetite. But it is unlike the low gratifications of sense in another respect.: while those hurt the health, debase the understanding, and corrupt the feelings, this elevates and refines our nature, teaching us to look upon all earthly objects as insignificant, and below our notice, except the pursuit of knowledge, and the cul tivation of virtue ; and giving a dignity and importance to the enjoyment of Hfe, which the frivolous and the grovelling cannot even comprehend. Let us, then, conclude, that the Pleasures of Science go hand in hand with the solid benefits derived from it ; that they tend, unlike other gratifications, not only to make our fives more agreeable, but better; and that a rational being is bound by every motive of interest and of duty, to direct his mind towards pur suits which are found to be the sure path of Virtue as well as of Happiness. DISCOURSE OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND ADVANTAGES POLITICAL SCIENCE. DISCOURSE OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. The Sciences which form the subject of our most useful study, and which, next to the cultivation of religion and the practice of virtue, are the source of our purest enjoyments in this world, may be divided into three great classes or branches, according to their several objects. Those objects are — the Relations of Abstract Ideas — the Properties of Matter — the Qualities of Mind. All the subjects of scientific research may be classed under one or other of these three heads ; and all the sciences may, accordingly, be ranged under one or other branch of a corresponding threefold division. To the first branch belong the abstract ideas of quantity — that is, of space in its different forms and portions ; and of these the science of Geometry treats ; —the abstract ideas of number, which form the sub ject of Arithmetic, general or particular, the one called Algebra, the other Common Arithmetic, the comparison and classification of all ideas, generally, whether abstract or not, and whether relating to matter or mind ; and this forms the subject of Logic, or the science of reasoning and classification. The first branch deals with mere abstract ideas, and has no necessary reference to actual existences; these form the subjects of the other two, which, ac cordingly, do not, like the former, rest wholly upon reasoning, but depend upon experience also. The one branch relating to matter, its properties and motions, 374 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND is termed Physics,* or Natural Philosophy ; the other, relating to the nature and affections of the mind, is termed Metaphysics or Psychology, j* or Moral or Mental Philosophy. Physical or Natural Philosophy is subdivided into various branches : one, for example, treating of weight and motion, is called Dynamics, or Mechanics and Statics; another, treating of the heavenly bodies, is termed Astronomy ; another, of light, is termed Optics ; another, of the qualities and composition of substances, called Chemistry; another, of the pro perties of living bodies, called Anatomy and Phy siology ; another, of the classification of substances and animals, called Natural History. To all of these accurate observation and experiment may be applied, and to some of them mathematical principles, by which extraordinary progress has been made in extending our knowledge of the laws of nature. Moral or Mental Philosophy consists of two great subdivisions : one treating of the powers, faculties, and affections of the mind — that is, its intellectual as well as its moral or active powers — the faculties of the understanding and those of the will, or our appetites and feelings as well as our intellects — and this branch treats of all spiritual existences, from the Great First Cause, the Creator and Preserver of the universe, to the mind of man and his habits, and down to the faculties and the instincts of the lower animals. This division is sometimes called Psychology, when that phrase is not used for the whole of moral science. The other subdivision treats of our duties towards the Deity and towards our fellow-creatures, and is gene rally termed Ethics.}; But perhaps the better and more correct division of the whole of Moral Philosophy is to consider it in two points of view — as it treats of * From the Greek word signifying natural objects or qualities. f From the Greek word signifying to discourse of the soul or mind. j From the Greek for morals. ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 375 man in his individual capacity ; and man as a mem ber of society. This last branch is termed Political* Science, and forms the subject of the following Dis course. We have already adverted to one important circum stance which distinguishes both the two branches of science which treat of actual existences from those which treat of abstract ideas and their relations. The truths of both Natural and Moral Philosophy differ from those of abstract science in this important par ticular, that they partly depend on experience and not exclusively on reasoning ; they are contingent, and not necessary ; the world, moral and material, might have been so constructed as to render untrue all things now known to be true respecting it ; whereas the truths of abstract science, arithmetic for example, are inde pendent of all contingencies, and do not result from any experience, and could not possibly have been different from what they are. It is easy to conceive a world in which bodies should attract each other by a wholly different law from that of gravitation ; but we cannot form to ourselves the idea of any state of things in which two and two should not be equal to four, nor the three angles of a triangle equal to two right angles. It follows that, in the sciences both of matter and of mind, we must be content with evidence of an inferior kind to that which the mathematical sciences employ ; and resting satisfied with as high a degree of pro bability as we can attain, must draw our practical conclusions with the hesitation which such a liability to error naturally prescribes. The first, or abstract branch, is capable of applica tion to the other two. The precision with which the qualities and the functions of matter are observable, and the ease with which these may be subjected to experiment, enable us to investigate them with great * From the Greek for city or state — the different communities in Greece having originally been cities and their adjoining territories. 376 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND facility, and to draw our general conclusions with much certainty. But this power is greatly increased by the use of mathematical principles, which enable us to deduce general inferences from observed facts, the truth of which facts being admitted, those inferences follow as absolute and necessary, and not as matter of contingent truth. Thus ' the observations of astro nomers show certain appearances of the heavenly bodies ; the observations of mechanicians show certain things respecting falling bodies on our globe. But suppose the truth of such observations to be admitted, mathematical reasoning shows, without the possibility of error or of doubt, that the power of gravitation extends to the heavens, and that the planets wheel round the sun as their centre by the same power which makes a stone fall to the ground if unsupported. This inference is a certain and necessary truth, if the facts be true which our observation teaches ; and such a mixture of necessary with contingent truths, forms a very large portion of Physics, or Natural Philosophy. But it is only in a few cases that we can obtain the aid of mathematical reasoning to render our inferences certain and necessary from facts observed in the science of mind, as it is also comparatively few observa tions and experiments that we are enabled to make upon its qualities. Hence there is a far less degree of certainty in this than we can attain in the physical sciences, and hence we ought to be doubly on our guard against dogmatism and intolerance of other men's opinions in all the departments of this less exact philosophy. The controversies which have oftentimes arisen among metaphysicians, strongly illustrate how little the positive dogmatism and exclusive intolerance of men holding one class of opinions towards those who held another, was in proportion to the degree of evi dence upon which their inquiries proceeded. Mathe maticians who run hardly any risk of error — naturalists who run but little more — have never been so bigoted ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 377 and so uncharitable as those whose speculations are fated to be always involved in more or less of doubt ; and when we come to political reasoners, we find, beside the intolerance of metaphysicians, a new source of error and of fault in the excitement which the in terests of men, real or supposed, lend to their passions. It would, however, be an equally groundless and a very pernicious error to run from the extreme of dog matism into the extreme of scepticism, and to suppose that because the evidence upon which our conclusions in moral science rest is inferior to the proofs of mathe matical, and even of physical truth, therefore we cannot trust the deductions of ethical principles, or their applications to the affairs of men as members of political communities. The more nice and subtle points of metaphysical philosophy are those upon which the chief doubts prevail. Some portions of psychology are placed above the reach of the human faculties, as indeed are some of the more intimate qualities of matter ; and it is eminently improbable that we shall ever be able to ascertain the essential nature of mind; but so no more are we ever likely to ascertain the ultimate cause of gravitation, or to penetrate into the laws which govern the primary combinations of material particles. Still, the more important, because the more practical, subjects of our inquiries into the nature of the human mind, the laws which govern man's habits as an individual, and the principles of human action upon which the structure of society and its movements depend, are not placed on such unap proachable heights. Within certain limits, safe con clusions can be drawn respecting these important matters. Facts may be observed, collected, and gene ralized, not, certainly, with the perfect accuracy which can be attained in the inductions of physical science, yet still with sufficient correctness to form the ground work of safe practical inferences. General principles of Moral and Political Science may thus be established, 378 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND by reasoning upon the results of experience ; and from those principles, rules for our guidance may be drawn, highly useful both in the regulation of the individual understanding, and in managing the concerns of com munities of men. To deny that Morals and Politics may be reduced to a science, because the truths of Natural Philosophy rest upon more clear evidence and assume a more precise form, would be as absurd as to deny that experimental science is deserving of the name, because its proofs are more feeble, and its propositions less definite and less closely connected together than those of pure mathematics. But it is more especially with Political Philosophy that we have now to do ; and there are many reasons why its truths should be better capable of clear de monstration and of distinct statement than those of the other branches of Moral or Ethical Science. 1. In the first place, although each individual by his consciousness is continually in a situation that en ables him to make observations on the human faculties by attending to the operations of his own mind, yet we know that hardly any habit is later acquired by the few who ever learn it at all, than the habit of turning the observation inwards, and making the mind the subject of its own contemplations. It is a process, indeed, which not one person in a hundred thousand ever thinks of undertaking. But the bulk of mankind are political observers. The operations of government, the habits and proceedings of the people, the conduct of communities, their fortunes and their fate, form the daily subject of reflection with all persons even of an ordinary degree of intelligence in every civilized country, and do not escape the observation of the bulk of the people, even in communities1 subject to such restraints from the structure of their governments, as to render the open discussion of such matters hardly possible in any class of society. Hence the observa tion of facts on pofitical subjects is performed almost ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 379 universally at all times, whether these facts are col lected and classified or not. 2. It follows, in the next place, that the appetite for knowledge of this description is far more generally diffused than for either moral or ethical knowledge; that numberless bodies of men in every country con ceive themselves interested in pofitical subjects, who would regard metaphysical speculations as wholly foreign to their concerns; and that there prevails everywhere a strong desire for such information, un less in places where misgovernment may have actually reduced the minds of the community to a state bor dering upon the dulness and insensibility of the brute creation. 3. Thirdly. The facts on which Political Science rests are more plain, manifest, and tangible, than those which form the subject of Moral Philosophy in its other branches. Those facts are more obvious ; they are perceptible in most cases to the senses ; they are reducible to number and measure. The accumulation or diminution of public wealth, — the prosperity or suffering of the people, — the progress of population, — the quiet or disturbed state of a country, — the pre valence of one portion or order of a state over the others, — the effect of a particular form of government, — the changes consequent upon its altered structure ; all these are matters of distinct observation, and most of them subject to exact calculation. But these, and such as these, are the facts upon which the doctrines of Political Science are grounded, and these doctrines are the results of reasoning upon such facts. 4. Fourthly. The mere facts themselves connected with pofitical science are far more important and far more interesting than those on which the other branches of moral philosophy rest. The peculiar action of the intellectual faculties, or of the feelings and passions, is not a subject of great extent. All we know of it is soon told, and there is but little variety 380 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND in different individuals as far as it is concerned. Dif ferent characters may be described, and the history of individuals affords great entertainment, as well as the matter of much interesting reflection ; but unless their actions are also comprehended in the narrative, the interest flags, and the story can scarcely go on ; and those actions almost always come within the province of Pofitical Science. The intellectual or moral habits of men as individuals, apart from their conduct, form a small and not an extremely interesting chapter in the history of man. But how different are those facts with which the political observer is concerned! The mere history of national affairs — the narrative of those public events which take place — the changes in the condition and fortunes of whole communities — their relations with each other, whether in peace or war — the rise and decay of great institutions affecting the welfare of millions — the progress of a policy upon which the happiness, nay, the very existence of whole nations depends — the varieties in the governments under which they five — the influence of those Govern ments upon the condition of the people — the effects which they produce upon their intercourse with other countries, — all these are subjects of most interesting contemplation in themselves, as mere facts, wholly independent of any general views to which they may lead, or of any practical conclusions which may be derived from them. Mr. Hume has written an ingenious and a sound dissertation, to prove that Politics — meaning the branch which treats of the structure of governments — may be reduced to a science; and he illustrates this by deducing from Political History certain gene ral principles which must at all times and in all circum stances hold true. But whether he be right or not, even if there were no means of drawing such strictly and universally true inferences, at least the import ance of the facts which the political reasoner deals ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 381 with must be confessed, and the great interest; which attaches to the mere knowledge of those facts cannot be doubted. 5. Lastly. We may observe that, the facts in question being of a public nature, and so known to the world at large, a better security is afforded for their being accurately observed and truly recorded. History, statistics, the narrative of public events, the details of national affairs, — these are the sources from which the political reasoner draws his facts. Estab lished institutions, bodies of law, universally known customs, wars, treaties, the manifest state of the world in its various regions at different times, — these are the facts upon which the political philosopher reasons, which he generalizes, from which he draws his conclusions, on which he builds his systems. But we shall be the better able to appreciate the peculiar excellence of this study if we now take a survey of the science itself, and thus present, as it were, a map of it to the eye, with the natural limits and boundaries of the various provinces into which it is divided. The great family of mankind dispersed over the earth occupy its various portions in various bodies or communities, each bound together by certain ties, and bearing in those portions a general resemblance to, or having distinctive features in which they differ from, the rest. These communities differ in their customs, character, and institutions; in their general circum stances and degree of civilization. The nature of their institutions, — of the various establishments for public purposes which exist for the management of their common affairs, — of the regimen under which and the rules by which the members of each community, whether compelled by force, or agreeing voluntarily, continue to five ; — in a word, the Domestic Manage ment of each state — forms the subject of the first great branch or province of Political Science. The second relates to the intercourse of different communities with 382 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND each other ; the mutual relations of the different com munities ; the principles of rules established for their demeanour towards one another ; — in a word, the external affairs of each state, but the national con cerns of the whole considered as one general com munity, the members of which are not individuals, but separate states. The former province is called Domestic Policy — the latter, Foreign or International Policy. Domestic Policy is subdivided into two branches. Each community must be subject to some kind of rule, or regimen, or government; some force estab lished for restraining the excesses of individuals, for preventing wrongs and creating and protecting rights, and for superintending those things which are neces sary to the public security and conducive to the public benefit, but which, if left to individuals, never could be accomplished at all, and finally, for representing the community in its intercourse with other states. The nature of this rule or government differs in different countries from the accidents of events, and from the peculiarities of natural situation and of national char acter. The different forms of government, — the dis tribution in each state of the power by which its people are ruled, — the arrangements which result from these diversities, — their influence upon the security, improvement, comfort, and happiness of the people in each — are the facts from which the prin ciples must be drawn which constitute the Science of Government. This science, then, forming the first great sub division of Domestic and National Polity, treats of two important matters, — first, the Principles relating to the establishment of all Government generally, and on which the establishment of the social relation, the formation of any connexion between the ruler and the people, depends ; and, secondly, the principles relating to the distribution of power in different states, — in ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 383 other words, the different Constitutions or Forms of Government in different countries. But there is another great subdivision of Domestic Polity, not inferior in importance to the former, and although intimately connected with it, yet easily dis tinguishable from it. The manner in which men manage their private concerns, — the course they pur sue in their dealings with each other, — -their way of exerting their industry for their subsistence, or com fort, or indulgence, — these proceedings may take place independent of the form of government under which they five; and, indeed, as no ruler has any thing to do with them, if each government did its duty, these proceedings would go on nearly in the same way under all governments, and only be affected incidentally by the difference in the form of each. Although, therefore, the interference of governments directly, and their influence indirectly, may affect men's conduct of their own affairs, still the principles which regulate that conduct, and the effects resulting from it, form a subject of consideration evidently dis tinguishable from that of government. This subject, then, relates to the wealth, the population, the edu cation, of the people ; and the conduct of the govern ment, in respect to these particulars, forms an import ant part of the discussion. This branch of the subject is termed Economics, or Pofitical Economy, because it relates to the management of a nation's domestic affairs as private economy does to the affairs of a family. The most important subject of Political Economy is the accumulation and distribution of wealth in all its branches, including foreign and colo nial as well as domestic commerce. But it also treats of the principles which regulate the maintenance, increase, or diminution of population, — the religious and civil education of the people, — the provisions necessary for securing the due administration of justice, civil and criminal, and, as subservient to 384 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND these, the maintenance of police — the measures re quired for supporting the public expenditure or the financial system — the precautions necessary for the public defence or 'the military system — and generally all institutions, whether supported by private exertions or by the State, the objects of which are of a pubfic nature.* Intimately connected with Political Economy, and, indeed, running as it were through all its subdivisions, is Political Arithmetic, or the application of figures to the various subjects of which Pofitical Economy treats, — as the details of public wealth, commerce, education, finance, population, civil and military establishments ; all of which may be made more or less the subject of calculation from given facts. Statistics, or the record of all the facts relating to the actual situation of dif ferent countries, in these several respects, is, properly speaking, a branch of Political Arithmetic. The function of making those laws which are re quired from time to time for the government of a community, is vested in the supreme power of the State ; and the important office of Legislation, accord ingly, is variously performed in different countries according to the different constitutions of each. In all States a great portion of the law is derived from custom, handed down by tradition and acted upon in practice, through a succession of ages. This is called Common or Unwritten Law, as contradistinguished from Statute or Written Law ; and though some nations have from time to time reduced to writing the provisions of the Common Law, thus furnishing them selves with Codes which comprehended all their laws, yet in all Systems of Law the distinctions between the two species may be traced; and even where a Code exists, it is known what portions of it were once Custom- • These subjects may be separated from Political Economy and treated under the head of Functions of Government ; they come under what the French call le Droit Adminislratif. ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 385 ary or Common Law, because the other, or Statu tory enactments, are known to have been first intro duced at a particular time, whereas the Common Law had been used before it was reduced into writing. The different laws of each State range themselves under the various heads to which they belong, those heads being the different subdivisions of the two great branches of Domestic Policy — the Pofitical and Economical — already referred to. But there are certain general principles of Legislation which are of universal appli cation, just as there are certain principles relating to Government, and certain principles relating to Econo mics, which are general, and do not depend upon the particular institutions established, or the particular systems adopted in different countries. The science of Jurisprudence treats of those general principles, and may be reckoned an appendix, but a most important one, to the branch of Domestic Policy. The other main branch of Political Science considers nations as individuals forming a portion of a larger community — a community of nations ; and treats of the principles which ought to govern them in their mutual intercourse. Those views which form the foundation of this science of Foreign or International Policy, are evidently, from their nature, a refinement introduced in a late period of society, because those views assume that communities, each of which is supreme and can have no superior on earth, are willing to .regard them selves as subject to certain rules in their intercourse with other nations, — rules which no common chief can enforce, but the observance of which is rendered ex pedient by the interests of all, and which, therefore, are generally regarded as binding. These rules are either those of sound policy or those of strict justice. The former class presents certain maxims as useful in regulating the conduct of nations towards each other, in order to provide for the general security, by preventing any one from becoming too 2 c 386 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND powerful, and thus dangerous to the independence of the others. The latter class acknowledges certain rights as belonging to each community, and denounces the infraction of these rights as a public wrong, giving the injured party a title to seek redress by force. Thus this Second Branch of political science consists of two subdivisions, — the one treats of the principles of policy which should guide nations in their mutual intercourse of peace and war, in the negotiation of treaties, the formation of alliances offensive and defen sive, the combination of weak States to resist a stronger one, the precautions necessary for preventing too great acquisition of strength by any one State to the derange ment of what is termed the general Balance of Power. These principles form the subject of Foreign Policy. The other subdivision treats of the rights of nations, — those rights in peace and war which are by common consent admitted to belong to each, because the common interests of humanity, the prevention of war, and the mitigation of its evils when it does occur, require some such general understanding and consent ; and the rules relating to this second subdivision are called the Law of Nations or International Law — of which the true description is, that it forms the code by which the great community of nations are governed, or ought to be governed, in their conduct towards each other, as Municipal Law is the code by which the individual members of any particular community are governed in their intercourse with one another. It is a very common error to confound with this branch of law many of the general principles of jurisprudence ap plicable to all nations, and to term these a portion of the Law of Nations.* * In the following series the subject of Jurisprudence and International Law will be only treated incidentally, as the other matters to which they relate require, and not under separate heads. The same may be said of the other division of the second branch, namely, Foreign Policy, a conduct prescribed to nations by their mutual interests in their mutual intercourse. ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 387 It is obvious that of all sciences which form the subject of human study, none is calculated to afford greater pleasure, and few so great to the student, as the important one of which we have just been describ ing the nature and the subdivisions. In common with ¦ the different branches of Natural Philosophy, it pos sesses all the interest derived from the contemplation of important truths, the first and the purest of the pleasures derived from any department of science. There is a positive pleasure in that exercise of the mental faculties which the investigation of mathe matical and physical truth affords. The contemplation of mathematical and physical truths is, in itself, always pleasing and wholesome to the mind. There is a real pleasure in tracing the relations between figures and between substances, the resemblances unexpectedly found to exist among those which seem to differ, the precise differences found to exist between one finger and another, or one body and another. Thus, to find that the sum of the angles of all triangles, be their size or their form what it may, is uniformly the same, or that all circles, from the sun down to a watch-dial, are to each other in one fixed proportion, as the squares of their diameters, is a matter of pleasing contemplation which we are glad to learn and to remember from the very constitution of our minds. So there is a great, even an exquisite pleasure in learning the composition of bodies, in knowing, for instance, that water, once believed to be a simple element, is composed of the more considerable of two substances, which make, when united with heat in a certain form, the air we burn and the1 air we breathe; that rust is the com bination of this last substance with metals ; that flame is supported by it ; that respiration is performed by means of it ; that rusting, breathing, and burning, are all processes of the same kind ; that two of the alkaline salts are themselves rusts of metals, one of these metals being lighter than water, burning spontaneously when 388 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND exposed to the air, without any heat, and forming the salt by its combination. To know these things, and to contemplate such relations between bodies or operations seemingly so unlike, is in a high degree delightful, even if no practical use could be made of such know ledge. So the sublime truths of astronomy afford extensive gratification to the student. To find that the planets and the comets which wheel round the sun with a swiftness immensely greater than that of a cannon-ball, are retained in their vast orbits by the same power which causes a stone to fall to the ground; that this power, with their various motions, moulds those bodies into the forms they have assumed ; that their motions and the arrangement of their paths cause their mutual action to operate in such a manner, as to make their course constantly vary, but also to prevent them from ever deviating beyond a certain point, and that the deviation being governed by fixed rules, never can exceed in any direction a certain amount, so as to preserve the perpetual duration of the system ; — such truths as these transport the mind with amazement, and fill it with a pure and unwearying delight. This is the first and most legitimate pleasure of philosophy. As much and the like pleasure is afforded by contem plating the truths of Moral Science. To trace the connexion of the mental faculties with each other ; to mark how they are strengthened or enfeebled; to observe their variety of resemblance in different in dividuals; to ascertain their influence on the bodily functions, and the influence of the body upon them ; to compare the human with the brute mind ; to pursue the various forms of animal instinct ; to examine the limits of instinct and reason in all tribes; — these are the sources of as pleasing contemplation as any which the truths of abstract or of physical science can bestow; from these contemplations we reap a gratification un alloyed with any pain, and removed far above all risk of the satiety and disgust to which the grosser indul- ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 389 gences of sense are subject. But the study of Political Science is equally fertile in the materials of pleasing contemplation. The examination of those principles which bind men together in communities, and enable them to exercise their whole mental powers in the most effectual and worthy manner ; the knowledge of the means by which their happiness can be best secured and their virtues most promoted; the examination of the various forms in which the social system is found to exist: the tracing all the modifications which the general principles of ethics and of polity undergo in every variety of circumstances, both physical and moral; the discovery of resemblances in cases where nothing but contrasts might be expected ; the observa tion of the effects produced by the diversities of poli tical systems ; the following of schemes of polity from their most rude beginnings to their greatest perfection, and pursuing the gradual development of some master- principle through all the stages of its progress — these are studies which would interest a rational being, even if he could never draw from them any practical in ference for the government of his own conduct, or the improvement of the society he belonged to — nay, even if he belonged to another species and was merely sur veying the history and the state of human society as a curious observer, in like manner as we study the works of the bee, the beaver, and the ant. How prodigiously does the interest of such contemplations rise when it is the political habits of our own species that we are exa mining, and when, beside the sympathy naturally felt in the fortunes of our fellow-creatures of other coun tries, at every step of our inquiry we enjoy the satis faction of comparing their institutions with our own, of marking how far they depart from the same model, and of tracing the consequences of the variety upon the happiness of millions of beings like ourselves! How analogous is this gratification to the kindred pleasure derived from Comparative Anatomy, which 390 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND enables us to mark the resemblances and the dif ferences in structure and in functions between the frame of other animals and our own ! From the contemplation of political truth our minds rise naturally, and by a process also of legitimate reason ing like that which discovers those truths, towards the great Creator of the universe, the Source of all that we have been surveying by the light of science — the Al mighty Being who made the heavens and the earth, and sustains the frame of the world by the word of His power. But He also created the mind of man, bestowed upon him a thinking, a reasoning, and a feeling nature, placed him in a universe of wonders, endowed him with faculties to comprehend them, and to rise by his medita tion to a knowledge of their Great First Cause. The moral world, then, affords additional evidence of the creating and preserving power, and its contemplations also raise the mind to a communion with its maker. Shall any doubt be entertained that the like pleasing and useful consequences result from a study of Man in his political capacity, and a contemplation of the structure and functions of the Political world ? The nice adaptation of our species for the social state ; the increase of our powers, as well as the multiplication of our comforts and our enjoyments, by union of purpose and action ; the subserviency of the laws governing the nature and motions of the material world to the uses of man in his social state ; the tendency of his mental faculties and moral feehngs to further the progress of social improvement; the predisposition of political com binations, even in unfavourable circumstances, to pro duce good, and the inherent powers by which evil is avoided, compensated, or repaired ; the singular laws, partly physical, and partly moral, by which the numbers of mankind are maintained, and the balance of the sexes preserved with unerring certainty; — these form only a portion of the marvels to which the eyes of the political observer are pointed, and by which his atten- ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 391 tion is arrested; for there is hardly any one political arrangement which by its structure and functions does not shed a fight on the capacities of human nature, and illustrate the power and the wonders of the Providence to which man looks as his Maker and Preserver. Such contemplations connected with all the branches of science, and only neglected by the superficial or the perverted, are at once the reward of philosophic labour, the source of true devotion, the guide of wise and virtuous conduct: they are the true end of all our knowledge, and they give to each portion of it a double value and a higher relish. The last — but in the view of many, probably most men, the most important — advantage derived from the sciences is their practical adaptation to the uses of life. It is not correct — it is the very reverse of the truth — to represent this as the only real, and, as it were, tan gible profit derived from scientific discoveries or philo sophical pursuits in general. There cannot be a greater oversight or greater confusion of ideas than that in which such a notion has its origin. It is nearly akin to the fallacy which represents profitable or productive labour as only that kind of labour by which some sub stantial or material thing is produced or fashioned. The labour which of all others most benefits a community, the superior order of labour which governs, defends, and improves a state, is by this fallacy excluded from the title of productive, merely because, instead of bestowing additional value on one mass or parcel of a ration's capital, it gives additional value to the whole of its property, and gives it that quality of security with out which all other value would be worthless. So they who deny the importance of mere scientific contempla tion, and exclude from the uses of science the pure and real pleasure of discovering, and of learning, and of surveying its truths, forget how many of the enjoyments derived from what are called the practical applications of the sciences, resolve themselves into gratifications 392 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND of a merely contemplative kind. Thus, the steam engine is confessed to be the most useful application of machinery and of chemistry to the arts. Would it not be so if steam navigation were its only result, and if no one used a steam-boat but for excursions of curiosity or of amusement ? Would it not be so if steam engines had never been used but in the fine arts ? So a microscope is a useful practical application of optical science as well as a telescope — and a telescope would be so, although it were only used in examining distant views for our amusement, or in showing us the real figures of the planets, and were of no use in navigation or in war. The mere pleasure, then, of tracing rela tions, and of contemplating general laws in the material, the moral, and the pohtical world, is the direct and legitimate value of science ; and all scientific truths are important for this reason, whether they ever lend any aid to the common arts of life or no. In like manner the mental gratification afforded by the scientific con templations of Natural Religion are of great value, independent of their much higher virtue in mending the heart and improving the life, — towards which important object, indeed, all the contemplations of science more or less directly tend, — and in this higher sense all the pleasures of science are justly considered as Practical Uses. But the applications to the common affairs of life, which generally go by that name, are also of great value. The Physical Sciences are profusely rich in these. The speculations of the moralist are also of great value in teaching us the discipline of the under standing, in improving the feelings, and in cultivating virtuous sentiments ; they are of still greater service in helping those concerned about the government of men. But the study of Political Philosophy is cer tainly, of all others, the most fruitful in beneficial results of what is usually called a practical kind. If almost proverbially "the proper study of mankind is ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 393 man," the most important appfication of the doctrines which moral science teaches respecting his nature is unquestionably that whereby we learn his position, habits, interests, rights, and duties as the member of a civil community. The science which treats of the structure of government, which makes the experience of one age or nation benefit another, and save it the price, and inconvenience, and delay of failure, pointing out the errors committed in various systems of civil or commercial polity, showing how these are to be corrected or shunned, and showing how such systems may most effectually and most safely be improved so as to secure the happiness of the people — the science which expounds the best modes of legislation, the true principles of jurisprudence, the more efficacious manner of executing, as well as of making laws — which defines the rights of the people and their duties, as well as those of their rulers, explains the rights of one nation with respect to another, and shows both the duty and the wisdom of combining order with freedom at home, and independence with peace abroad : — surely this science, if it be not, of all others, the most useful to every state, nay to every individual citizen at every period, at least yields to none in real practical impor tance. The benefits which it helps us to obtain, the errors which it leads us to correct, the dangers which it enables us to avoid, are the most important, because those benefits, and errors, and dangers affect the whole affairs of nations, and nearly concern every individual member of the community directly or indirectly. No thing can be more plain than this proposition; but incidentally it will derive additional illustration when we now proceed to consider the objections which have been sometimes raised against teaching it. To take only one illustration at present — how nearly does the advantage resulting from the examination of foreign constitutions resemble the benefits derived to human Physiology from studying the anatomy of the lower 394 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND animals! This branch of Political Science may be justly termed the Comparative Anatomy of Govern ment ; and if studied with a constant regard to general principles of policy, their illustration from the struc ture and functions of various systems of polity, and the modification they undergo by the diversities of each, this science is calculated to throw useful light on the general subject of Political Philosophy, and lend us valuable improvement to the knowledge of our own system, exactly as the Comparative Anatomy of the body extends our knowledge of Physiology, and im proves our acquaintance with the human frame. No one has ever, in any free state, hardly in any civilized country, denied the advantages of Political Science, or objected to its being learned by certain classes : nothing so absurd was ever yet attempted. But an opinion at one time prevailed, and it still has some adherents, that political subjects are not fit for discussion among the great body of the people, and that, therefore, many who do not deny the propriety of instructing them in other branches of knowledge, have objected to their being taught the doctrines of Political Philosophy. The rich and the powerful might study such matters : the rulers and the law givers of the country, or the upper classes of the community, might learn them, and treatises might be written for, or lectures delivered to, them and their children, or addressed to other select circles, upon the great subjects of National Polity : but the people were to care for none of these things, — they might read a newspaper or attend an election meeting ; but political knowledge was a thing above their reach and out of their line, — a .thing for their betters, and with which it was both useless and perilous for the working classes to meddle. The time is certainly past and gone, never to return, when such preposterous doctrines could find any general acceptance in this country or in France ; though in other parts of Europe they still are ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 395 found to pass current. Yet even in France, Germany, and England herself, a modification of the same fallacy is to be traced as influencing the judgments of many respectable men, even of some whose general opinions are not bigoted or illiberal: it leads to the entertaining a strong prejudice against the diffusion of political knowledge, to a wish that the people at large could be cured ol their taste for it, and to an alarm at the dangers likely to result from it to the peace and good order of society. It becomes a duty, therefore, to examine a little more closely this objection, and see whether it really has any force. Let us" begin by stating the argument used by the objectors ; but, first of all, let us observe that the main objection is to Politics, as contra-distinguished "from Political Economy ; that is, to the first subdivision of the great branch of Domestic Policy. Of its other subdivisions, Economic Science, and of the second branch, Interna tional Policy, the objectors are more careless, and some would rather have the former of these — Political Economy — taught, provided Politics commonly so called, — that is, the principles, and structure, and functions of government, were exempt from the public scrutiny, and withdrawn from the province of the popular teacher. The argument of the objectors is this, — -No human institution is or can be perfect : and the governments established in all the countries of Europe having their origin in early and unenlightened times, necessarily partake more or less largely of the imperfection inci dent to the works of man. They present, therefore, many points of objection to those who live in a more refined period of society ; nor is it possible to deny that many things would be avoided as absurd or pernicious in the present times, if we had now to frame, for the first time, our political institutions. It thus becomes impossible to examine either our own or other systems of government without pointing out many faults in 396 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND them; nor can the sound principles of civil polity be unfolded without leading to inferences disparaging to the system we live under. Nay, it would be impos sible, and, if it were possible, it would be dishonest to shun the reference to existing circumstances and the established order of things in explaining the funda mental principles of sound policy, against which the institutions of the state are found clearly to sin. Hence it is argued, that the people, being thus taught, are rendered discontented with their government, and excited to a desire of change. 1. We may begin by observing that much of the real force of this objection is presented against a factious, unfair, exaggerated discussion of political sub jects, undertaken in the disguise of a fair and honest course of instruction. That treatises, and still more, lectures to the people, may have a pernicious effect if the teacher abuses his office, and makes himself a partizan or a demagogue, is not denied. But it by no means follows that the science of government may not safely be taught. For, after all, it is a practical, an experimental science. If there be no real mischiefs occasioned by any alleged defects in any given system of polity, — if the evils charged upon it are merely speculative and almost nominal, — if the people do not feel any inconvenience from them, — if they produce no consequences which are generally seen, and by alj who observe them freely admitted, — nay, if the evils be not actually felt as well as remarked and confessed, — we may be well assured that the allegation of the defects existing will be received as groundless, because, prac tically speaking, the arrangement called in question is not defective. No argument in a speech, no exhorta tion in a treatise or a lecture, can make men think they are oppressed, or ill governed, or suffering in any way, when they are in reality free and happy ; or can succeed to a considerable extent in persuading the audience or the disciples that they are uncomfortably ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 397 circumstanced, and ought to be discontented, when they know and feel that they are living at their ease and ought to be satisfied. 2. But suppose the defects do exist, and that the people suffer under them, it is fit and proper that the causes of the evil should be probed, and should be pointed out without any reserve. It is certain that the not doing so will never prevent the people from feeling discontented ; on the contrary, if they are left to feel the pressure, and do not know distinctly from whence it proceeds, both their discontent is likely to be increased beyond its just amount, and it is likely to take a wrong direction. The lessons taught by honest and skilful instructors will both reduce the complaint within the bounds of moderation, and prevent blame from being imputed to harmless measures, inoffending men, and unexceptionable institutions. If any illustra tion were wanting of the dangers to which the peace as well as the general prosperity of a country may be exposed from popular ignorance, we might instance the disturbances so often arising in all parts of the world from the popular indignation against the exporters of corn during a scarcity, or the use of machinery in times of manufacturing distress. But ignorance of the nature of government may produce the like mischiefs. The necessity of some considerable degree of re straint to the well-being of society — the impossibility of the supreme power being left in the hands of the whole people — the fatal effects of disregarding the right of property, the great corner-stone of all civil society — the interest which all classes down to the humblest have in the protection afforded by law to the accumulation of capital — the evils of resistance to established government unless in extreme and therefore very rare cases — the particular interest which the whole people, low, as well as high, must ever have in general obedience to the supreme power in the state — the almost uniform necessity of making S98 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND all changes, even the most salutary, in any established institution, gradually and temperately — all these are the very first lessons which every political teacher must inculcate if he be fit for his office, and commonly honest, and he cannot move many steps in any direc tion through his subject, without finding occasion to illustrate and to enforce these fundamental lessons by the constant experience of mankind. But what are these lessons ? They are the very doctrines of good order and of peaceful conduct ; they are the most powerful incentives to submission — a submission the mdre to be relied on, because it is rational, and results from an appeal to men's reason, not from an over ruling force — the well-considered submission of well- informed and therefore well-disposed men, not the blind obedience of ignorant slaves. Let the body of the people be kept, ever so much in the dark upon the nature of government and the state of their own concerns, the existence of evils being admitted, the smarting under them will come without any teaching ; but the more they learn the better they will be able quietly to bear them. Let the people be ever so ignorant, the sense of their own exclusion from a power which they see their superiors exercise, one of the hardest things to bear— the comparison of the poor man's lot with that of his wealthy neighbour, the very hardest portion of their lot, and that which must ever expose society to its greatest perils — will be always sure to strike their minds ; and unless they are curbed by an overwhelming force, can never operate without the most mischievous tendency to the peace of society, until foundations of government and the nature of the social compact, as well as the prin ciples of Economical Science, are fully learnt by the mass of the people. There wants no teacher to make a poor man begrudge his powerful and wealthy neigh bour both his actual share in the government and his disproportionate share in the good things of this fife : ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 399 but the teacher must have ill performed his task if he has left any doubt in the mind of the poorest man who hears or who reads him, that the misery of all classes must follow from insurrection and anarchy : that unequal distribution of power is necessary for all government, and unequal distribution of property essential to its very existence, the idea of too much and too little being utterly inconsistent with its very nature ; that upon its existence depends the whole fabric of society ; and that a general division of pos sessions would make the country a scene of profligate extravagance for one year, and of universal desola tion the next — a bedlam for one short season, and a charnel-house ever after. 3. The contemplation of the structure of other governments as well as of that under which we live, and the comparison of the defects and advantages of our own with those of other systems, can hardly fail to produce a happy effect upon the dispositions of any people in tolerably happy circumstances. Our coun trymen, for example, when they perceive the immea surable superiority of the British over so many other forms of government, cannot avoid drawing from the comparison powerful motives for contentment, and strong reasons why they should bear with subordinate evils rather than run the risk of losing a great good. All foreign experience, too, and all past history, in culcates the necessity of sober and cautious proceed ing, where admitted evils are to be removed, or valuable improvements to be introduced. Nor can it escape observation, that many of those things which the superficial and ignorant are prone to regard as improvements, are easily shown, by a deeper examin ation of the subject, to be either useless or hurtful. Hence untaught men often long after some foreign institution about which they know little; whereas a full and systematic acquaintance with the subject would show them that the different habits and various 400 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND circumstances of the foreign nation, in other parti culars, render the thing in question beneficial there, which here would be noxious. 4. It' would be endless to show in how many par ticulars a people would be more easily and safely governed, if political knowledge were fully and widely diffused among them. The first instances that occur are drawn from the evil influence of ignorance and prevailing errors upon subjects of Economical Science. The great mischief arising from the labouring part of the community being unacquainted with the nature of wages, and the principles on which their rate depends, are well known. The unlimited supply of labour which their imprudent marriages, and repug nance to change their residence or their occupation, are constantly bringing into the market, really is the main cause of the depression of the working classes ; for it keeps down their earnings to the very lowest amount of subsistence on which human life can be maintained. Could anything be more happy, both for themselves and for the peace of society, than such a thorough knowledge of this subject as would check the master evil which now pervades all the lower ranks of society ? — In like manner, the outcry raised in favour of unlimited provision for the poor, and against the reasonable, indeed the necessary rule which would confine each man to living upon the produce of his own industry, or the income of his own property, never could arise, at least never could have any success, but among the most ignorant of mankind. — So, the strange delusions propagated by some wild visionaries, and by some ill-disposed men, that labour alone gives a right to enjoyment, and that the existence of accu mulated capital is a grievance and an abuse, could not have the least success with men who had been taught to reflect that the accumulation of capital is the necessary consequence of the existence of property and its secure possession, and that no classes have a ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 401 stronger interest in the protection of capital than the labourers whom it must necessarily always be em ployed in supporting. — The rage against machinery; the objections to a free export of grain ; nay, the exaggerated views of even just and true doctrines, as that which condemns the corn laws; afford addi tional illustrations of the mischiefs which ignorance of economical science is calculated to produce. — To take one more example, but a very striking one,— the popular prejudice against usury, and the notion that limiting the rate of interest protects distressed borrowers, prevented any attempt to amend the law in that important particular for many years after Mr. Bentham had demonstrated that the distressed borrower suffers far more under this pressure than the wealthy lender, and after the first mercantile authority in the world* had pronounced Mr. Ben- tham's Defence of Usury unanswered, because un answerable. Nor have the higher classes yet thrown off these prejudices so far as to remove altogether one of the greatest practical defects in our commercial jurisprudence. But the teaching of other branches of Political Science is equally beneficial to the cause of good government. It may safely be affirmed that no outcry against any impost required for the public service ever could be raised among a people well informed on the necessity of maintaining the establishments required for the public service ; and that such schemes as the Excise never could for years have been defeated, and afterwards made for half a century the object of popular hatred, sometimes the ground of insurrection, in a well-informed community. So the vulgar prepos session in favour of law-taxes, as tending to check litigiousness, could only among a very ill-informed people have supported, till a late period, an impost » The late Sir Francis Baring. 2d 402 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND notoriously the very worst that ever was invented, and the direct tendency of which is to prevent justice from being obtained by the poor man. — The cry of sacred chartered rights being violated by a reform in a monopolizing Company's administration of India, drove a ministry from power threescore years ago ; and assuredly it could never have seduced any but a very ignorant people. Accordingly, there was just as much violence done to the Company's charter, the year after, by the successors of that ministry, without any kind of umbrage being given to the most sensitive persons in the country. — The classes of society were among the most ignorant of mankind, which about the same time were seized with such an alarm lest Popery should be made, by main force, the religion of the people, that they attempted to fire London, did burn the Catholic chapels in Edinburgh, and drove into retirement the most accomplished member of the Scottish Church, — the illustrious historian whose works shed a lustre on the name of his country.* Nor were these better informed who, thirty years later, helped a party in the state to remove their adversaries from the government, and seize upon their places, upon the outcry of a like danger threatening the religion of the country in consequence of a very insignificant bill, which its adversaries passed into a law a few years afterwards without one word being ever whispered against it. — But let us consider only how many measures every fovernment is compelled to postpone, contrary to its xed and clear opinions, merely because the pubfic mind will not bear them in its present state of infor mation. Men may differ, for example, as to the propriety of retaining certain colonial possessions at a vast expense, with great loss to our trade, and with considerable risk of hostile operations becoming neces sary. But even if all statesmen of any note were agreed * Robertson. ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 403 that those distant possessions should be abandoned, what minister would venture to give up the country where Wolfe gained his victory and met his end, — an event that has consecrated the spot in the affections of the people, and makes them blind to all consequences and deaf to all reason ? — So it might be of great benefit to give up Gibraltar; but the people must have learnt many a lesson of political wisdom before it would be , safe for any administration to propose its cession, how ample soever might be the benefits of the measure. Lord Chatham was as bold a minister, and one as regardless of consequences when he saw his course clear before him, as ever presided over the affairs of this country; — yet, when, in order to gain the invalu able co-operation of the Spanish branch of the Bourbons, and rescue Europe from the depression consequent upon its disjointed state, he perceived the expediency of offering up Gibraltar for Minorca, a letter from him to our ambassador at Madrid remains, in which he broaches the subject with a degree of fear and trembling that indicates how frightful he deemed the risk he ran of exciting the national feelings of England against him to overwhelm his government. Such alarms could have no place among a people, the bulk of whom, well informed upon political subjects, were accustomed to consult the real interests of the country and incapable of being led astray either by vague apprehensions, or the clamours which designing knaves might raise to delude them. — But of the many evils which popular ignorance creates in human society, there is none so pernicious as its influence upon those national feelings in which commercial restraints, and, above all, wars, have their origin. The fear of benefiting other nations, and aiding our competitors by our trade, is at the bottom of the former; the latter are too frequently occasioned by national animosities, by hatred of our neighbours merely because they are our neighbours; and it may be remarked' that both commercial and 404 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND political jealousies chiefly operate against those who, for the very reason that they are our near neighbours, are our best customers, and should, for the benefit of both parties, be our firmest friends. The history of our species is a history of the evils that have flowed from a source as tainted as it is abundant. To go no farther back than a century ago, — Walpole was first hurried into a war which its chief supporters afterwards admitted* to have been as groundless as it was impolitic, by a senseless cry against the Spaniards, raised by a few smugglers, who took advantage of our people's ignorance to excite their feelings of honour and revenge, and profligately encouraged by a political party who turned to their own personal advantage the greatest injury they could inflict upon their country. — The most unfortunate and impolitic war ever waged by this country was popular in the extreme at first ; and no minister could have stood up against the supremacy of the mother-country over thirteen colonies, while all the ignorant members of the community believed that they had an interest in levying taxes by force from the American colonies in aid of the mother-country. — Nor is it any diminution of the evils which are produced by want of political knowledge, that wars, in themselves just and necessary, may at first be favoured by the people, and then abandoned at a time when the best interests of the state require them to be persevered in. An unreflecting, because an uninformed, nation is at all times liable to commit this error, than which none can be greater excepting that most grievous of all faults, the rushing into a contest without cause. 5. It may be said that there is this peculiar to a course of political instruction, that many of' the prin ciples explained in it are those which the existing parties * Mr. Burke relates this striking instance of the crimes of party : to turn out Walpole, his adversaries raised the war whoop ; they broke the peace of twenty years to obtain power. This those party-leaders admitted to him in discussing this disgraceful passage of party history. ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 405 in the state are at the time appealing to, and disputing about, — many of the illustrations used in expounding those principles are the very topics of most vehement discussion among the practical statesmen and factions of the day. The whole subject, it may be argued, is more or less controversial, and the controversy is one in which, as it involves men's real or supposed interests, and consequently engages their passions deeply, no instructor can easily avoid taking a side, and no audience can help being swayed by the prevailing sentiments of the times ; so that instruction becomes difficult, from the interference of party prejudice in both the teacher and the pupil, while a factious spirit is sure to be fostered, and unkindly feelings to be exacerbated, if not engendered. In this remark there is, unquestion ably, much truth; it refers to the principal difficulty that attends pofitical instruction. But it can never be allowed to prove that no such instruction should be conveyed ; it only warns us to guard as much as possible against falling into the error which it points out. If it were suffered to operate as a conclusive reason against teaching politics, this would follow — that upon the things most necessary to be known ignorance is better than knowledge, — that in proportion as the subject is more interesting to men, they should take the less pains to understand it. But that is not all : it would also follow that, upon topics calculated to excite strong feelings, it is better and safer for the people to be kept in the dark. For by the supposition which forms the ground of the whole objection, you cannot keep the people from taking an interest in these subjects; you cannot help their being excitedand split into parties ; their being so is the very origin of the remark with which we are dealing. Then, because such excitement and such party differences prevail, is there any common sense in prescribing an entire ignorance of the questions those dissensions relate to, as a likely means of allaying them? Are political 406 OBJECTS. PLEASURES, AND differences the more sure to be reconciled by keeping those who are split by them in ignorance of the subjects under dispute ? Are men more likely to agree upon any matter the less they know about it ? The people, it seems, feel strongly upon certain subjects, and are much divided in opinion, many being for a certain course of policy, many against it. The argument is, that for the purpose of bringing about an understanding, and making all in its favour, or all join in rejecting it, or all unite in preferring some middle course safely placed at a distance from either extreme, the parties should be prevented from comprehending the nature of the measure in question, and kept in ignorance of all the arguments for it, all the arguments against it, and all the arguments for a middle course. Once upon a time, says the old fable, two gallant knights met upon a plain where a shield stood upright ; and one of them having called it a white shield, the other asserted it to be a black, whereupon they prepared to fight after the manner of that age, still somewhat in vogue at the present day. But a dervise or priest came up, and, having learnt the cause of their quarrel, suggested that each had better look at both sides of the buckler — • when they found that each knight was right — the one side being pure white, the other jet black. The minister of peace performed his duty wisely; but our objectors, and some of them nominally of the same vocation with the dervise, have no better expedient to propose than that the shield should be covered up from both com batants, and the fight go on. It must on all hands be admitted that there is no greater evil in any country than party violence — the abuse of that which, if kept within due bounds, is an advantage, and may be the means of preserving public liberty and promoting general improvement, namely, the honest combination of statesmen for patriotic pur poses. This becomes an intolerable evil when it is made the mere engine of selfish men for giving power ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 407 and profit to themselves at the expense of the public good, and by the subservient agency of the people whose interests are sacrificed to the views of their leaders. Opinions are then assumed, in order to marshal politicians in bands and separate them from others. Place is the real object; principle the as sumed pretext. The people, instead of thinking for themselves, are made the dupes and the tools of others, — hurried into all the follies of which thoughtless men are capable, and into as many excesses as their design ing leaders dare let them commit consistently with their own safety, and without the least regard for that of their followers. Now, nearly the whole influence of such party chiefs is grounded upon the political igno rance of the people at large ; and the permission thus assumed to make and dictate their opinions. In such a state of things Dean Swift's saying is correct, that " Party is the madness of many for the gain of a few;" and such a state of things could not exist among a people politically educated. As the navigators who first visited the South Sea Islands could purchase the lands, goods, and chattels of the natives for a red feather, our ancestors four centuries ago could butcher one another by thousands, and extirpate nine-tenths of the nobility of the country in a few years for a red or a white rose ; but the wars of Lancaster and of York could no more be waged in our time, than the South Sea islanders, after being civilized, can be induced to barter their property for nothing ; and the day will come when other party differences will be regarded with the same contempt with which we now regard the factions of the Henrys and the Edwards. 6. This leads to the important remark, that the question is . no longer left open to us whether the people shall be taught politics or not. Taught they must be ; and the only question is, whether they shall be well taught, or ill instructed and misinformed. Do what you will, somebody will take the part of public 408 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND instructor. It is an office that any man in a free country may assume, and it is one which almost every one thinks himself qualified to fill. If the people are not taught sound doctrine upon the subject, by calm and tolerably impartial men, they will inevitably listen to guides of a far different description, and will fall a prey to the more violent and the more interested class of politicians, to the incentives of agitators, the arts of impostors, and the nostrums of quacks. If, indeed, a teacher so far violates his duty, as to give partial, in flamed, untrue accounts of the subject he handles — if he keeps out of view the facts which history has stored up in illustration of the tendency of particular systems — if he inflames the passions of an unthinking multi tude, and converts a course of instruction into an engine of faction, — then he may do mischief, as all men may who are guilty of fraudulent and mischievous actions upon false pretences. But this possibility only furnishes a reason against misinstructing the people, not against teaching them ; it warns us to avoid impos tors, not instructors ; it shows that politics may be ill and dishonestly taught, as religion, or even morality itself may be ; not that politics should be left untaught any more than morals and religion. And assuredly we may rest satisfied of one thing ; the difficulty is far greater, of making a course of lectures the means of propagating, by foul means, any system of opinions, than the difficulty of deceiving the people in any other way. The shame, upon the detection of such a design, is far greater, and the chances of its being detected are more numerous. The good dervise, of whom the legend speaks, took the honest and the rational course; he was a fair as well as a wise teacher. Had he, like the Leyite in the parable, kept aloof and passed on the other side, while the work of death was going on, he would have been a weak, and a timid, and a selfish man. But had he interfered to prevent the comba tants looking on both sides — had he, who saw the ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 409 shield in either direction, persuaded each knight that he was in the right, and that the other was in the wrong, he would have been justly execrated as a dis honest guide — his treachery would have been speedily discovered — and both parties would have joined in scorning and in punishing him. Let it not, however, be supposed that any course of political lessons can be given with no leaning to one set of doctrines rather than another. Such a thing is hardly possible, consis tently with honesty ; and, were it possible, it would not be at all desirable. On a subject like this every one who has well considered it must have formed his opinions; and he must, therefore, conscientiously be lieve those opinions to be right — nay, to be the only right and safe ones for the people to entertain. It is therefore his bounden duty to declare his sentiments ; and it is infinitely more fair, more honest, and more useful, as well as safer, that he should declare them openly, distinctly, and manfully, after stating the whole case, and the reasons on both sides, than that he should give a partial view of the argument, and leave the audience to draw its own conclusions — that is, his own conclusions. He is a teacher, not a partizan ; he is fairly to expound the views and the arguments of others with whom he differs; and he is to give his reasons for retaining his own sentiments. From so open and honest a course of proceeding no mischief whatever can be apprehended, and no other course can be called Instruction. Can any one doubt that it is best for the people and safest for the government that this course should be pursued upon all political sub jects, and most of all upon those subjects which are the most calculated to excite deep interest and rouse strong feelings? What better means can be devised of showing the public how much it is their interest to inquire and judge for themselves ? What better security can be devised against the efforts of violent and intriguing men ? What more sure remedy against 410 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND the arts of political empirics, whose natural prey is,, and ever will be, the ignorant vulgar — but who in vain display their wares before well-informed and reasoning men? These considerations may serve to show, not merely that the Political Education of the people is attended with none of the danger to the peace of society which the objectors apprehend, but that a positive security is afforded by it against the very worst dangers to which the cause of good order in any community can be ex posed. But we must go yet a step farther, and observe that the right of the people to be instructed as to the public interests, and the duty of their superiors to educate them in Political Science, rests upon higher ground than has yet been taken. The force of public opinion must be acknowledged in every government, save only that of the most purely despotic form. It has more or less a direct influence, according to the nature of the constitution under whicfi the people live ; and the momentum with which it acts varies, under the same kind of constitution, according to the degree in which the people are educated. But even in countries that enjoy little constitutional freedom, the public voice, when raised, is effectual; and even the most ignorant nation has a will which its rulers must not venture entirely to disobey : nay, in absolute monarchies, where public opinion forms the only check on misgovernment, and the people seldom exert any influence, yet, when they do interfere, it is oftentimes with terrible effect. Nor is any' interposition likely to be withheld merely because, from the popular igno rance, it happens to be uncalled for or exerted in a wrong direction. How important, therefore, is it, with a view to the people's only safeguard, and the ruler's only curb, that they should be well-informed upon their political interests ! But how immeasurably more important is it in countries living under a free govern ment, that those whom the constitution recognizes as ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 411 sharers, more or less directly, in the supreme power, should have a correct knowledge of the state of their own affairs, and the principles upon which their rights and their interests depend ! It must be observed that no government, even the freest, can be in the hands of the people at large; and that grand improvement of modern times, the representative system, by which extent of territory can be safely combined with a popular constitution, still leaves the exercise of supreme power in the hands of persons delegated to govern — even where there are none but elective magistrates, that is, even in republican constitutions. Those dele gates, then, be they executive, or judicial, or legislative, require the vigilant superintendence of the community, in order to prevent errors or abuses, to quicken their diligence or to control their faults, during the term of their office. This superintendence is most wholesome if exercised by an enlightened people, and affords the only effectual security for constant good government — the only real safeguard for popular rights. _How many fatal errors would rulers of all kinds, and in all ages'— whether Consuls and Senates, or Archons and Assemblies of the people, or Monarchs and their Councils, or Kings and their Parliaments, or Presidents and Chambers, have been prevented from falling into ; and how many foul crimes, both against the interests of their subjects, and against the peace and happiness of the world, would they have been deterred from committing had the nations submitted to their care been well instructed in the science of public policy, acquainted with their true interests, aware of the things most dangerous to their liberties, and impressed with that sense of duty to their species which an enlarged knowledge of Political Philosophy can alone bestow ! Take, again, the instance of war — that game, as has been 'well said, at which kings could never play were their subjects wise— how melancholy is it to reflect that nearly all the devastation which it has spread 412 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND over the earth would have been spared, with the countless mischiefs following in its train, had only the same enlightened views prevailed which have already resulted partly from sad experience, partly from diffused information, and which seem, at the present day, to have, at least for a while, taught men the guilt as well as the folly of war ! But experience is a costly as well as an effectual teacher; and the same lesson might have been wholly learnt without the heavy price that has been paid for it. Experience, too, is a teacher whose lessons are forgotten in the course of a little time ; as the memory of wounds and the fear of fighting wear out with the pain they occa sion. Nothing then, can effectually and permanently instil the sound doctrines of peace and of justice into any people but an extensive Political Education, to instruct them in their interests and their duties. It is the same with the frauds as with the oppressions of statesmen. The sacrifice of the many to the few would be impossible in a well-informed country. That game of party, in which the interests of the people are the counters, and the power and pelf of the gamesters themselves the only thing they play for, though not the only stake they risk, never could be played to the destruction of public virtue and the daily peril of the general good, were the people well acquainted with the principles which should govern the administration of their concerns; and possibly it is an instinctive apprehension of this truth that has made all parties so averse to the general diffusion of political knowledge. But it is not merely as a control on the mismanage ment of their affairs, and a check to encroachments on their rights, that the interposition of the people is required in every country, and is the very life and soul of each constitutional system ; they ought to promote the progress of improvement, by urging their rulers to better by all means the condition of those under their care, and, above everything, to amend the errors of ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 413 their political system. As all government is made for the benefit of the community, the people have a right, not only to be governed, but to be well governed ; and not only to be well governed, but to be governed as well as possible ;wthat is, with as little expense to their natural freedom and their resources as is consistent with the nature of human affairs. Towards this point of per fection all nations ought constantly to be directing their course. But the rulers having no interest of the kind — nay, rather an interest in keeping things as they are, if not making them go backwards — unless the people interfere, little progress will be made in that direction, and some risk always incurred of losing the ground already gained. Surely, then, nothing can be more manifest than that full and sound political information is necessary for those whose strongly pro nounced desire of improvement is the best security for the progress of all national reform. The diffused knowledge of the general principles of policy, and an intimate acquaintance with what has been done in other countries, and with the results produced, becomes as sure a source of political improvement as the diffused knowledge of mechanical science, and an acquaintance with tbe inventions of foreigners, is the source of almost all improvement in the arts. The education of particular classes alone may, no doubt, be better than the general prevalence of political ignorance ; but as those classes for the most part have particular interests, and each has its own purposes to serve, the only security for improvements which may benefit the whole body of the people, is for the whole body of the people to understand in what their true interests consist. In truth a greater absurdity cannot well be imagined, than attempting to keep the bulk of mankind in igno rance of all that appertains to State Affairs. State affairs are their own affairs. An absolute Prince* * Louis XIV. 414 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND once exclaimed, "The State! I am the state!" But the people may most justly exclaim, " We are the State." For them laws are made ; for them govern ments are constituted. To secure their peace, and protect them from injury without and* within the realm, rules are appointed, revenues raised, police established, armies levied. To exclude them from the superintendence of their own affairs is as if the owner of an estate were refused the inspection of his accounts by his steward. To prevent them from understand ing the principles on which their affairs are adminis tered, is as if the owner of an estate were suffered to know what his steward was doing, but debarred from all understanding of what he ought to do. To prevent them from knowing what are the institutions and the condition of foreign nations, is as if the owner of an estate were precluded from knowing how his neighbour's property was managed, what rent he got for his land, what salaries he paid his agents. In every country, whatever be the form of its govern ment, and however little of a popular cast, this is the amount, and this is the aspect of the absurdity pro pounded by those who would prohibit the Political Education of the People. But incomparably grosser is the absurdity of keeping the people in ignorance where the, constitution of the government is of a popular kind. There, the people are called upon to bear a share in the management of their own affairs, to attend public meetings, to serve in offices, to vote in the choice of lawgivers. There may be some con sistency in excluding them from all the knowledge that would fit them for performing those high politi cal functions, while you also exclude them from all exercise of the functions themselves. But to make them political functionaries, and to leave them in ignorance of political subjects, is little less absurd than it would be to keep the owner of an estate ignorant of farming, and expect him to superintend the man- ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 415 agement of his farms. But if it be said that there is no occasion for all the community learning Political Philosophy any more than there is for all a land owner's family inspecting his accounts and under standing agriculture; the answer is obvious, that all the community, and not particular classes, are the parties interested in State affairs; and that if any family can be found in which all the members, ser vants included, have their several shares in the pro perty of the estate, then, beyond all question, each member down to the humblest menial, however incon siderable his share of the property, would be entitled to inspect the accounts — would be directly interested in superintending the management — and would be unspeakably foolish to remain in ignorance of the principles on which farms should be managed, and the condition and management of the other estates in the neighbourhood. Nor can any the least risk arise to the peace and good order of society from the humbler classes occu pying themselves with such pursuits; any, the least, risk of their grudging their superiors the benefits and the privileges of their station, or seeking to displace them, and shake the stability of the national system. Imperfect knowledge of Political Philosophy, a super ficial acquaintance with what is passing in other coun tries, and what has, in past times, been the history of their own, may expose them to be misled by designing men, or to become the dupes of their own irregular desires and groundless fancies. Such errors are in- Separable from all learning, because they are the consequences of the imperfect information with which learners must begin ; they overshadow the dawn of all intellectual improvement; they cloud the mind before the sun has yet arisen; but they offer the same obstacles to knowledge in all its branches, and are as much objections to moral, and even to reli gious, instruction, as to the study of Political Science. 416 OBJECTS, PLEASURES, AND The risk — the temporary and inconsiderable risk — is admitted; the guarantee is certain, and it is easy. An imperfect light is dangerous. In the twilight men's steps falter ; and, as they dimly see, they doubt fully grope their way. Then let in more light ! That is the cure for the evil; and that is the answec to the objection. But of one thing we may be well assured : be the dangers ever so great of instructing the people on that which it most concerns them to know — be the hazards arising from the circulation of free opinions and the diffusion of pofitical knowledge among the people a thousand times more imminent than they have ever be'en painted by alarmed and short-sighted men; we cannot prevent the evil, be it ever so appalling, and are left to apply the only remedy — " Let there be light." In vain you seek to pui down such doctrines by force ; even to quell the uproar of admitted errors by force is of no avail in maintaining quiet. Rather say, force alone has the power greatly and widely to disseminate falsehood. Doctrines ever so fantastical, ever so wild — tenets as dull as they are groundless, as revolting as they are untrue — systems as rotten as they are deformed — follies which, left to themselves, must quickly die a natural death — all are capable of being forced onward to success by injudicious attack. The rod of power, like the magician's wand, can change deformity into beauty, lend strength to the rottenness, give currency to the dulness, and life to the decay of errors, which nothing else could recommend, or circulate, or pre serve. To oppose the progress of truth — to suppress the communication of opinions — to obstruct the dif fusion of knowledge — is not so pernicious, but is quite as ineffectual an exercise of the persecuting power. It remains to mark the most salutary effects of an extensive diffusion of Political Knowledge — the most salutary, because unalloyed by even any the least and most transient inconvenience. An enlarged view of ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE. 417 their own best interests must give the people sound and enlightened feelings respecting the merits of human conduct, and form in them the habit of justly estimat ing the character and the conduct of the men who guide the affairs of nations. The mischiefs are incal culable which have resulted to our species, from the habitual false judgments formed on. this important sub ject by the bulk of mankind ; and it must in fairness be confessed that the great crimes which have been committed by statesmen in all ages, have been mainly caused by the encouragement which the people have given to the criminals. Dazzled by success, subdued by the spectacle of triumphant force, stricken with wonder at the mere exercise of great faculties, and the sight of the events which they brought about, men have withdrawn their eyes from the means used to attain those ends, and lost their natural hatred of vice in their admiration of genius and their sense of power. No disgust at meanness, no scorn of treachery, no horror of cruelty, has hitherto availed against the false lustre shed over despicable and detestable deeds by brilliant capacity crowned with victory. But that is not all the folly committed by unreflecting men. The most absolute disregard to their own interests has been coupled with their misplaced admiration of successful guilt. The crimes which dazzled them were perpetrated at their cost; the price paid was their own long, and boundless, and bitter suffering. For all that was done amiss and for all themselves admired, they themselves paid. Their own best interests were sacrificed quite as much as principle and duty were violated. They have lavished upon tyrants, and conquerors, and in triguers, who were their worst enemies, their loudest applause ; for those pests of the world reserving the fame that should have been kept sacred to virtuous and beneficent deeds ; and confining the title of " Great" — the prize that all' generous natures strive after — to 2 E 418 ADVANTAGES OF POLITICAL SCIENCE those whose lives were spent in working their misery and their ruin. This preposterous combination in which the people have so long been leagued to call things by their wrong names, to praise the wrong men, to suffer that the scourges of their kind, the enemies of peace and freedom and virtue, should not merely escape reprobation, but should monopolize all the places in the Temple of Fame, has been the fruitful source of human misery and national crimes, and it has been the result of nothing but the darkest ignorance. The knowledge of Political Science, which teaches the people their true interests, can alone rescue them from the error of ages — restore public virtue to the pedestal which successful vice has so long usurped — and secure on a lasting foundation the peace and the happiness of the world. INDEX. Addison, his style, 129. f schines criticised, 1 85. Algebra, nature of, 297. Ants, their instincts, 347. tropical ant hill, 348. Aristocrates, oration against, 27. Aristodemus a traitor, 19. Arithmetic, 297. Arnold, Dr., his great success, 109. his letter, 114. Astronomy,mechanical principles,315 Augustan age of English letters, 129. Baillie,Capt., Erskine's defence of,23G. Barbauld's, Mrs., books commended, 363. Barometer explained, 329. Barrow, bis merits, 287. Beavers, their buildings, 349. Bees, their cells, 340. their instincts, 346. Benevolence, enlightened, more glori ous than empire, 141. Bird, eye of, 337. wing, 334, note air vessels, 339. Blair's improved magnifier, 336. Bolingbroke, his style eulogized, 129. Bones, tubular, strength of; 339. Bossuet, his funeral sermons, 262. his adulation, 263. Bourdaloue criticised, 281. was one of Massillon's models, 281. his great merits, 286. Burke, remarkable sentences of, 163. his published speeches, 210. his best oration borrowed from the Greek, 133. Camel, hoof of, 351. Campbell, Thos., translates a Greek epitaph, 113. Catenary, what, 306. Cesarotti as a Greek scholar, 110. Charidemus, his public services, 28. Chatham, Lord, his singular manner, 12. his policy, 403. Chersonese oration, or 8th Philippic, 11. oration on, translated, 73. Cicero, his unspoken orations, 32. and moveable .exordiums, 37. Cicero, his facility in Greek, 38. careful study under different mas ters, 39, 40. remarkable sentences, 42. his ornate style, 46. his closeness, 46-48. extracts from, 69-72. his proficiency in Greek, 107. translates Demosthenes, 106-120. anecdote of, 136. translations by Kelsall, 145-166. objects of translation, 140. its diificulties, 147. oration against Verres, 148. history of, 149. artifices, 150. passages, 161-164, 185. See also ( Greek orators.' Circles, properties of, 303. Citizenship, rights of, 28. Comets, laws of, 19. Compasses, elliptic, what, 305. Confederacies, their foundations, 29. Constellations, what, 323. Constructive treason, doctrine of, 213. Cowper, his successful translations, 111. Cromwell, Bossuet's notice of, 268. Crown, Demosthenes' oration on, translated, 105. Cuckoo, 353. Cycloid, 306-333. Dante, resembles the ancients in using one epithet to give an idea, 133. illustrated, note, 133. Debating defined, 209. unknown to the ancients, 210. Demosthenes, his exquisite polish, 5. conciseness, 6. reputation, 8. choice1 of words, 13-16. of figures, 21. self-control, 25, 37. writes for Euthycies, 27. remarkable passages, 17, 23, 24, 27, 29, 31, and appendix, 64-69, 132. his unspoken orations, 31, 32. his aversion to speak off hand, 39. his study under masters, 39. _ exquisite taste of his audience, 41-43. 420 INDEX. Demosthenes, criticism on his style, 48-51. wit and sarcasm, 52. Philip's opinion of him, 52. plan of the Philippics, 52-56. the great speech, 56. his reasoning examined, 57, 58. his vast superiority, 59, 60. extracts from, 64-69. translation of oration, 73-103. his peculiarities, 123, 124. See also t Greek orators.' Diopeithes, support of, 17. Doltand, his achromatic glass, 336. Dryden, his learning, 111. his manner, 129. Dynamics, important rule, 315- 328. Edgeworth, Miss, her books com mended, 363. Eloquence op the Ancients, Dissertation on — ancient, superior to modern, 3. the only medium through which the public were infraehced, 4. scarcity of writings, 4. orators laboured to please, 5. exquisite finish and facility acquir ed by practice, 6. conciseness, doubtful, if the pub lished orations are the same as at first spoken, 7. difference between writing for the eye and the ear, 8. repetition of fine passages, 8. and its objects, 10. frequent in 4th Philippic, hence called the Peroration, 11. Chersonese, or 8th Philippic, 11. selection of words, 13-16. remarkable passages, 17. regarding traitors, 19. similes on Philip's political power, 20. his defects, 21. same rhetorical figures used again, 21. and against iEschines, 23. self-control, 25. and rale of perorations, 25, 26. oration written at age of twenty- eight for Euthycies against Aris tocrates, 27. citizenship of Athens, 28. passage translated on confedera cies, 29. Eloquence of the Ancients — all illustrative of great care taken by the Greek orators, 31. nnspoken speeches of the ancients contrasted with modem volubi lity, 31. six or seven of Cicero's best were never delivered, 32. introductions to speeches kept in reserve, 34. care in study, and aversion to ex tempore speaking of Demos thenes, Pericles, Plato, _ and Cicero, long course of training among the ancients, 39. Demosthenes and Cicero took les sons from many masters, 39, 40. great orators gave lessons, 41. severe standards of the ancients, 42, 43. sparing in use of figures, 44. ancients fall short of the moderns m the substance of their ora tions, 45. more reasoning and less rhetoric among the latter, 45. Cicero both ornate and argument ative, 46-48. allusions mixed with argumenta tion, 49. style of" Demosthenes, his argu mentation, 51. wit and sarcasm, 52. Philip's opinion, 52. plans of the 2d and 3d Philippics, 52-54. Demosthenes' great oration ex amined, 55-57. contrasted with Sir W. Grant, 58. condensed view of Demosthenes' great merits, 59. effects of true eloquence described, 59, 60. appendix — extract from Erskine, 61. extracts from Demosthenes, 64- 69. from Cicero, 69-72. translation of oration on the Chersonese, and notes with its history, 73- 10 3. oration on the crown, 105. the Saxon and Latin tongues considered, with a view to translations of Greek, 106,108. Cicero's plan, 108. Cesarotti, Pope, Cowper, and INDEX. 421 Eloquence of the Ancients — others as translators ; to trans late the Iliad required both a Greek scholar and a poet, 112. paraphrase and circumlocution condemned, 112. author prefers the pure English idiom for translations, 112. French translation, 1 13. English Oratobs — Ekskine, 209. Erskine, paucity of authentic modem orations, 209. Est of Erskine's speeches, 211. they contain a history of the laws of libel, 21 1 , and of law of jury, 2 1 2. ' Constructive Treason' exposed, ex tracts, 213, 214. Stockdale's trial, speech in his de fence, 218-223. defence of Hastings, 222. extract, 223. English policy in India, 224-227. defends the liberty of the press, 227-230. fruits of Pitt's ayostacy from the reform party, 230-235. Frost's case, Perry's, — speech for Baillie, 236. Erskine's success, 239. speeches for Madras Council, 244. for Cuthell, 245. adultery cases, 245-254. his professional character, 254, 255. conversant with Greek writers, 123. speeches reviewed, 209. extracts from, 61, 243-246, 253. Ethics, what, 374. Euthycies, oration written for him, 27. Experience, defined, 311. Extracts, from Erskine, 61. Grattan, 62. Demosthenes, 63. Fergnson, Mr. C, edits Erskine's speeches, 209. Fish, air bladder of, 339. shape of, 334. its eye, 337. Fixed stars, their number 323. Flies, feet of, 342. Fluency in public speaking, vicious, 170-172, 192-195. Fly trap, 353. Foreign competition, 403. Fox, C. J., complains of Logan's tract, 218. condensation in his speeches, 200. Francis, his learning, 110. Franklin, his discoveries, 331. Freedom, its true bulwark is mistrust of tyrants, 52. Freedom" of the press, abridged by Pitt, 230., French translation of Demosthenes noticed, 113. Frost, defended by Erskine, 231. Gastric juice, its variousproperties,345 Glow-worm, 352. Gordon, Lord G., case of, 213. Grant, Sir William, excellence of his speeches, 58. Grattan on Irish liberty, 62. Gravity, as the squares of the dis tance, 317. Gray borrows from Dante, 134. Greek Orators — Demosthenes, 170. "• careless eloquence' of our times, 170. 1 natural eloquence,' 172. extempore speaking a vicious habit, 172. sparing of words, 129 never over-do their subject, 130. satirists, their scurrility, 198. language of the passions is con cise and simple, 172. laborious study of the ancients, 173. Plato, 174. Demosthenes' extreme care in study, 174-176. his repetitions, 176-186. illustrations, 177. transpositions, 179. labour on sentences, 18-i. declamation, 182. his perorations, 184. of ^schines and Cicero, 185. passagefrom second Olynthiac, 1 88. examined, 189-192. fastidious taste of Athenians con trasted with modern fluency and mediocrity, 192-195. what points are most telling in debates, "hits," 195-197. extract translated, 198-209. excellences of Demosthenes, 202- 206. pronunciation of Greek, 207, 208. Gunnery, principle of, 304. Hadfield, Erskine's defence of, 242. Hall, Robert, A.M., reviewed, 256. 422 INDEX. Hastings, Warren, Logan's defence of, 217. Heat of the sun, 324. Henrietta Maria, queen, Bossuet's sermon on, 263. Hooker characterized, 129. Hume on politics, 380. Hydraulics, what, 328. Hydrodynamics, what, 328. Hydrostatics, what, 328. " Immaculate conception," Bossuet's theory on, 265, 268. Inaugural Discourse as Lord Rector, 115. the rhetorical art, 119. value of Greek study, 119. modern oratory and sculpture in ferior to ancient, 120. question as to utility of the classics, 121. many Greek orations with slight change suitable for modern use, 123, 124. a greater variety of subjects than are to be found in Cicero, 125. causes of the superiority of Greek over Roman eloquence, 126-128. to translate from Greek into Eng lish, the best mode of forming a pure style, 128. bestperiodofEnglishlitei*ature,from the time of Elizabeth to Anne, 128. best writers, 129. modern redundance and Greek terseness, 130. Burke's best efforts, 131. condensation and power of Demos thenes, 132. Dante resembles the Greeks, 134. rule, a man will speak well as he writes much, 135. careful preparation insisted on, 135. extempore speaking, 136. noble uses of eloquence, 137. enlightened benevolence more glo rious than empire, 141. India, English policy in, 224. Indian warrior, speech of, 61. Insanity, Erskine on, 242. Isseus and Isocrates, masters of rhe toric, 39. Johnson, Dr., his " big words," 206. mechanical rhythm, 129. Jury, law of, 212. Kelsall's Cicero, 145. Kelsall's Cicero, faults of, 153. Knowledge does not produce turbu lence, nor unbelief, 139. Koenig, his investigations, 341. Latin pronunciation discussed, 167- 169. Law of nations, 386. Legislation, science of, 385. Leland, notes on his translation, 73- 103. commended, 110. Libel, law of, 211. Lingendes de, Rapin's opinion of, 260. Lizard, foot of, 343. Logan, Rev. Mr., defends Mr. Hast ings, 217. Logarithms explained, 299. Louis XIV., funeral sermon by Mas sillon, 269. his arrogance, 413. Marie V., Bossuet's panegyrics^ 265, 266. extracts, 265-268. Massillon, anecdotes of, 260. his style, 269-280. Mathematics defined, 296. pure and mixed, 313. Menon, his services, 28. Metaphysics, uncertainty in, 376, 377. Midias, Demosthenes, oration on, 33. Milk tree, 355. Milky Way, 323. Millot, his knowledge of Greek, 110. Milo, Cicero's speech against, 32. Modem infidelity, Hall on, reviewed, 256. extracts, 288-290. Moon, observations on, 325. Moral Science, 356. Napoleon, his tactics, 129. Natural numbers, what, 300. Natural philosophy, result of obser vation and experiment only, 31 0. Natural Science, 313. Mechanics and chemistry, 314. anatomy, botany, &e., derivation of terms, 314. branches run into each other, 314. application of known facts and laws to astronomy, 315-321. Newton, 322. planets, sizes, distances, &c, 322- 325. applied to navigation, 325. INDEX. 423 Natural Science — mechanical philosophy, rules, 326. powers, 327. terms, 328. optics, electricity, 330. chemistry, 331. physiology and botany, 332. cycloids, motions in, 333. ' solid of least resistance,' 334. eye offish, 337. bird's eye, 337. air vessels, 339. bees, their cells, 340. work by suetion, 341 foot of the fly, lizard, and sea horse, 342, 343. pollen of plants, 344. creepers, 345. fastric juice, 346. ees and ants, 346. beavers, 349. the camel, 351. nautilus, glow-worm, ostrich, 352. cuckoo, duck, snipe, toucan, 353. fly-trap, 353. wild pme, and other retainers of water, 354, 355. moral science, 356. duty, independence, 357. applied science, 358. pleasures of it, 364-370. Nautilus, 352. Navigation, aided by astronomy, 325. Newton, Sir I., his discoveries, 322. Observation and experience the bases of natural philosophy, 310. Optics, what, 330. Orators, modern, 112. Oval, what, 304. Parabola, what, 304. Parhament, argumentative speeches suitable to, 58. Partizan, what, 64. Passages, remarkable, of Demos thenes, 17, 23, 24, 27, 29, 31. 1 People,' must be taught politics, 407. Perdiccas, pubfic services, 28. Pericles, notice of his orations, 44 Peroration on 4th Philippic, the, 11. Perry, Erskine's defence of, 210. his speech, 229. Philip of Macedon characterized, 12, 187. his successes and his weakness; 1 9. his jealousy, 21. Philip, his private life, 22. his estimate of Demosthenes, 52. his policy, 52-54. Philip of Narni,, his preaching sent thirty bishops to their dioceses, 260, note. Physics defined, 308. Pitt, his noviciate in toryism, 230. Planche, review of, 170. Planets, their dimensions and dis tances, 323. Plants, impregnation of, 344. Plato, his care in selection of words, and aversion to speak off hand, 38. Pleasures of scientific knowledge, 390. Pneumatics, 328. Political Science, Discourse of, 371. uncertainty of metaphysics, 376- 377. politics founded on facts, 378. the nature of these facts, 380. divided into domestic and inter national, 381, 385. economics, 383. statistics, 384. legislation, 384. scientific pleasures, 386-392. political philosophy, its benefits, objections answered, 395. dangers of ignorance, 398. fallacies, 400-404. controverted subjects, not useless, 404-407. the people must be taught politics, 407-418. Louis XIV., " I am the State," 413. Pope, a good Greek scholar, 111. Public speaking, indispensable re quirements to, 41. Pulpit Eloquence, Disserta tion on, 256. its advantages, 257. few fine sermons published, 258. indifference of the public, 258. aided by rhetoric, 259. St. Paul, De Lingendes, Castillon, Bourdaloue, Flechier, Bossuet, Massillon, 260. Bossuet's adulation, 263. Massillon on war, 269. .his servility exceeded by South, 271. Voltaire's remarks, 272. extracts, 272-279. remarkable passage, 278. 424 INDEX. Pulpit Eloquence — the greatest preachers in France attended the theatre, 279, note. Bourdaloue criticised, 281. perhaps superior to Massillon, 281. and Bossuet, 284. extracts, 282. merits of "Barrow, South, and Taylor, 287. passages from Hall, 288. Quintilian, his criticisms, 40. Reading, its proper uses, 362. Reiske, notes on his translation, 73- 103. Robertson, Dr., his retirement, 402. Roman manners, 155. Roman Orators — Cicero, 142. Kelsall's Cicero, 142. history of oration against Verres, 148 rhetorical artifice, 150. translators' mistakes, 151-155. critique on the oration, 156-160. a golden rule of art, 159. translations corrected, 161-163. Burke quoted, 163. mistakes in English, 164-166. pronunciation of Latin by the Scots and Italians preferable to the English mode, 167. Romans, their delight in oratory, 42. Rugby school, flourishing, 109. Scarlett (Lord Abinger), conversant with the Greek masters, 122. Science applied to the arts, 358-361. Science, Discourse op, 291. defined as l Knowledge reduced to a System,' 292. threefold division— 1. Of Number and Quantity or ' Mathematics ;' 2. Of 'Matter' or 'Natural Philosophy;' 3. Of 'Mind' or 'Moral Philosophy,' 296. arithmetic, 297. nature of algebra, 297. logarithms, 300. geometry defined, 301. properties of triangles, 302. curvelinear figures, 303. properties of circles, 303. of parabola and oval, 304. Science — hyperbola, 305. cycloid and catenary, 306. physics, 308. mathematical reasoning described, 308, 309. natural philosophy the result of observation and experiment, not of reasoning, 310. Self-control necessary to an orator, 25. Sermons, number of, annually, 257. Skate, 339. Snipe, 353. Speeches, unspoken, of the ancients, 31. modern, very few authentic in print, 209. Statesman and partizan contrasted, 64. Steam engine, principle of, 329. Stockdale, Erskine's defence of, 216. Strafford, remorse of Charles I. at con senting to his death, 263, note. Tankards, natural, 354. Taylor, a master of Greek, 111. Telescopes, 336. Tendrils, what, 344. Theophrastus, anecdote of, 42. Thrace, conquest of, 17. Toucan, 353. Trachallus,euIogizedbyQuintilian,40. Traitors, treatment of, 19. cautions against, 52. Trammels, what, 305. Treason, constructive, what, 213. Triangles, properties of, 302. Tyrants, should ever be mistrusted, 52 . Wages, evils of ignorance on, 400. Walpole, going to war, 404. War, Massillon on, 269. impolicy of, 404-411. Wellesley, Lord, an eminent Greek scholar, 109. Wolf, notes on his translation, 73-103. a perfect master of Greek, 111. Verres, offends Roman feelings, 155. appendix, 61. Voltaire, praises Massillon, 271. Yew tree, peculiarity of, 344. GLASGOW: PHIHTED BY BELL AND BAIN. i. f HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES: their Rise, Progress, and Results, by Colonel Procter, Royal Military College, Sandhurst. New edition, with beautiful illustrations after Gilbert, Sargent, &c, &c. Crown 8vo, . 3s. 6d., cloth. 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