course.

I suppose it will be granted that hardly one in an hundred among our people of quality, or gentry, appears to act by any principle of religion. That great numbers of them do entirely discard it, and are ready to own their disbelief of all revelation in ordinary dis

Nor is the case much better among the vulgar, especially in great towns ; where the profaneness and ignorance of handicraftsmen, small traders, servants, and the like, are to a degree very hard to be imagined greater. Then it is observed abroad, that no face of mortals hath so little sense of religion as the English sol. diers : to confirm which, I have been often told by great officers in the army, that in the whole compass of their acquaintance, they could not récollect three of their profession, who seemed to regard or believe one syllable of the Gospel : and the same, at least, may be affirmed of the fleet. The consequences of all which, upon the actions of men, are equally manifest. They never go about, as in former times, to hide or palliate their vices; but expose them freely to view, like any other common occurrences of life, without the least reproach from the world or themselves. For instance, any man will tell you, he intends to be drunk this evening, or was so last night, with as little ceremony or scruple as he would tell you the time of the day. He will let you know that he is going to a wench, with as much indifference as he would a piece of public news. He will swear, curse, or blaspheme, without the least passion or provocation. And although all regard for reputation be not quite laid aside in the other sex, it is however at so low an ebb, that very few among them seem to think virtue and conduct of any necessity for preserving it. If this be not so, how comes it to pass that women of tainted reputations find the same countenance and reception in all public places, with those of the nicest virtue, who pay and receive visits from them, without any manner of scruple ? Which proceeding, as it is not very old among us, so I take it to be of most pernicious consequence. It looks like a sort of compounding between virtue and vice ; as if a woman were allowed to be vicious, provided she be not profligate; as if there was a certain point where gallantry ends, and infamy begins; or that an hundred criminal amours were not as pardonable as half a score.-Swift on the Advancement of Religion.

CHAP. XXII.

OF THE NEAT STYLE.

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NEATNESS of style implies a certain degree of orna

Its ornaments however are not of the most showy or brilliant kind, but such as are easily attained. A writer who employs this kind of style, considers the beauties of language as an object worthy of attention. He is careful in the choice of his words, and endeavours to arrange them with propriety and elegance ; but he seldom attempts any bold flight of eloquence. His sentences are free from the incumbrance of superfluous words; they are of a moderate length, and rather inclining to brevity than to a swelling structure ; they generally close with propriety, and are unincumbered with long tails. His cadence is varied, but not of the studied musical kind. Such figures as he employs, are short and correct, rather than bold and glowing.

This style may perhaps be adopted by an author of superior genius ; but it is not unattainable by one of no uncommon capacity. Any writer of ordinary attainments may acquire it, by carefully attending to the rules of rhetoric, and to the practice of writers of established reputation. It is a mode of writing that never becomes disagreeable. It imprints a character of moderate elevation on our composition, and displays a decent degree of ornament, which is not incompatible with any subject whatever. A familiar letter, or a law paper, may be written with neatness; and a sermon, or philosophical treatise, in a neat style, will be read with pleasure.

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The writings of Middleton, Blackstone, and Smith, appear to me to exhibit models of this species of style. From the last of these authors I shall endeavour to select an apposite passage.

We sympathize even with the dead, and overlooking what is of real importance in their situation, that awful futurity which awaits them, we are chiefly affected by those eircumstances which strike our senses, but can have no influence upon their happiness. It is miserable, we think, to be deprived of the light of the sun; to be shut out from life and conversation ; to be laid in the cold grave a prey to corruption and the reptiles of the earth ; to be no more thought of in this world, but to be obliterated in a little time from the affections and almost from the memory of their dearest friends and relations. Surely, we imagine, we can never feel too much for those who have suffered so dreadful a calamity. The tribute of our feNow-feelings seems doubly due to them now when they are in danger of being forgot by every body; and, by the vain honours which we pay to their memory, we endeavour, for our own misery, artificially to keep alive our melancholy remembrance of their misfortune. That our sympathy can afford them no consolation, seems to be an addition to their calamity; and to think that all we can do is unavailing, and that, what alleviates all other distress, the regret, the love, and the lamentations of their friends, can yield no comfort to them, serves only to exasperate our sense of their misery. The happiness of the dead, however, most assuredly is affected by none of these circumstances; nor is it the thought of these things which can ever disturb the profound security of their repose. The idea of that dreary and endless melancholy which the fancy naturally ascribes to their condition, arises altogether from our joining to the change which has been produced upon them, our own consciousness of that change, from our putting ourselves in their situation, and from our lodging, if I may be allowed to say so, our own living souls in their inanimated bodies, and thence conceiving what would be our emotions in this case. It is from this very illusion of the imagination, that the foresight of our own dissolution is so terrible to us, and that the idea of those circumstances, which undoubtedly can give us no pain when we are dead, makes us miserable while we are alive. --Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments.

CHAP. XXIII.

OF THE GRACEFUL STYLE.

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NOTWITHSTANDING the powerful effect which graceful composition produces upon the mind, it is difficult to reduce it to a definition. Where language does not supply us with proper words to express the ideas of the mind, we can only convey our sentiments in figurative terms; a defect which necessarily introduces some obscurity.

Grace in writing may be compared to that easy air which so remarkably distinguishes persons of a genteel and liberal cast. In consists not only in the particular beauty of single parts, but in the general symmetry and construction of the whole. An author may be just in his sentiments, lively in his figures, and clear in his expression, yet at the same time may be wholly a stranger to graceful composition. The several members of a discourse must be so agreeably united as mutually to reflect beauty upon each other : their arrangement must be so happily disposed as not to admit of the least interposition without manifest prejudice to the entire piece. The thoughts, the metaphors, the allusions,

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and the diction, should appear easy and natural, and seem to arise like so many spontaneous productions, rather than as the effects of labour or art. Whatever therefore is forced or affected in the sentiments, whatever pompous or pedantic in the expression, is the very reverse of grace.

Her mien is neither that of a prude, nor that of a coquette ; she is regular without formality, and sprightly without being fantastical. Grace is to good writing, what a proper light is to a fine picture ; it not only shews all the figures in their several proportions and relations, but shews them in the most advantageous manner. As gentility appears in the most minute actions, and improves the most inconsiderable gesture, so grace is discovered in the placing even of ingle word, or in the turn of a mere expletive. Nor is this inexpressible quality confined to one species of composition; it extends from the humble pastoral to the lofty epic, from the slightest letter to the most solemn discourse.

It is supposed that Sir William Temple was the first writer who introduced a graceful manner into English prose ;* but I am rather inclined to think that this honour is due to Cowley. The general merit of this author's essays has been acknowledged by Johnsont and Goldsmith ; # but they have never been referred to as instances of graceful composition. They however seem entitled to this mark of distinction. His sentiments are natural, and his diction simple and un