"certain point, far below that of ideal perfection, (for we are made capable of conceiving what we "are incapable of attaining), but, however, suffi"cient upon the whole to constitute a state easy "and happy, or at the worst tolerable: I say, it 66 seems to me, that the Author of Nature has thought fit to mingle, from time to time, among "the societies of men, a few, and but a few, of "those on whom he is graciously pleased to be"stow a larger portion of the ethereal spirit, than "is given in the ordinary course of his government "to the sons of men." A very bad sentence this; into which, by the help of a parenthesis, and other interjected circumstances, his Lordship had contrived to thrust so many things, that he is forced to begin the construction again with the phrase I say, which, whenever it occurs, may be always assumed as a sure mark of a clumsy ill-constructed sentence; excusable in speaking, where the greatest accuracy is not expected, but in polished writing unpardonable. I shall add only one rule more for the unity of a sentence, which is, to bring it always to a full and perfect close. Every thing that is one should have a beginning, a middle, and an end. I need not take notice, that an unfinished sentence is no sentence at all, according to any grammatical rule. But very often we meet with sentences that are, so to speak, more than finished. When we have arrived at what we expected was to be the conclu sion; when we are come to the word on which the mind is naturally led, by what went before, to rest; unexpectedly some circumstance pops out, which ought to have been omitted, or to have been disposed of elsewhere; but which is left lagging behind, like a tail adjected to the sentence; somewhat that, as Mr Pope describes the Alexandrine line, 66 "Like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along." All these adjections to the proper close disfigure a sentence extremely. They give it a lame ungraceful air, and, in particular, they break its unity. Dean Swift, for instance, in his Letter to a Young Clergyman, speaking of Cicero's writings, expresses himself thus: "With these writings young divines are more conversant than "with those of Demosthenes, who, by many degrees, excelled the other; at least, as an ora"tor." Here the natural close of the sentence is at these words, "excelled the other." These words conclude the proposition; we look for no more; and the circumstance added, "at least, 66 66 as an orator," comes in with a very halting pace. How much more compact would the sentence have been, if turned thus: "With these "writings young divines are more conversant "than with those of Demosthenes, who, by many degrees, as an orator at least, excelled the "other." In the following sentence, from Sir William Temple, the adjection of the sentence 66 66 66 is altogether foreign to it. Speaking of Burnet's Theory of the Earth, and Fontenelle's Plurality of Worlds, "The first," says he, "could not end his "learned treatise, without a panegyric of modern learning in comparison of the ancient; and the "other falls so grossly into the censure of the old poetry, and preference of the new, that I could "not read either of these strains without some indignation, which no quality among men is so "apt to raise in me as self-sufficiency." The word "indignation" concluded the sentence; the last member," which no quality among men is so "apt to raise in me as self-sufficiency," is a proposition altogether new, added after the proper close. 66 LECTURE XII. STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. HAVING treated of perspicuity and unity, as necessary to be studied in the structure of sentences, I proceed to the third quality of a correct sentence, which I term strength. By this I mean, such a disposition of the several words and members, as shall bring out the sense to the best advantage; as shall render the impression which the period is designed to make, most full and complete; and give every word, and every member, their due weight and force. The two former qualities of perspicuity and unity are, no doubt, absolutely necessary to the production of this effect; but more is still requisite. For a sentence may be clear enough, it may also be compact enough in all its parts, or have the requisite unity; and yet, by some unfavourable circumstance in the structure, it may fail in that strength or liveliness of impression, which a more happy arrangement would have produced. The first rule which I shall give for promoting the strength of a sentence, is to divest it of all redundant words. These may, sometimes, be consistent with a considerable degree both of clearness and unity; but they are always enfeebling. They make the sentence move along tardy and encumbered: Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se It is a general maxim, that any words which do not add some importance to the meaning of a sentence, always spoil it. They cannot be superfluous, without being hurtful. "Obstat," says Quinctilian, "quicquid non adjuvat." All that can be easily supplied in the mind is better left out in the expression. Thus: "Content with deserving "a triumph, he refused the honour of it," is better language than to say, "Being content with deserving a triumph, he refused the honour of it." I consider it, therefore, as one of the most useful exercises of correction, upon reviewing what we have written or composed, to contract that roundabout method of expression, and to lop off those useless excrescences which are commonly found in a first draught. Here a severe eye should be 66 * "Concise your diction, let your sense be clear, |