we do not see the pathetic side of these painful representations till we look back upon them from the repose of the conclusion.

I need not dwell on the terms for varieties of the Ludicrous. The only nicety is the distinction between wit and humour. Much has been written on this distinction. One can see, from the examples quoted, that critics are very much at one, though they generally fail in definition, owing to the vagueness of their psychological language. Professor Bain's theory is that humour is simply the laughable degradation of an object without malice, in a genial, kindly, good-natured way; and that wit is "an ingenious and unexpected play upon words." The two qualities are not opposed, not incompatible. A good deal of the confusion about them has arisen from viewing them as two contrasted and inconsistent qualities. Wit may be humorous, or it may be derisive, malicious. I have somewhere seen it laid down that humour "involves an element of the subjective." When we call a writer humorous, we have regard to the spirit of his ludicrous degradation; we imply that he is good-natured-that he bears no malice. When we call a writer witty, we have regard simply to the cleverness of his expression; he may be sarcastic, like Swift -or humorous, like Steele. The proper antithesis to humour is satire wit is common to both.

Such is the true definition of humour, but in the actual applica tion there may be as much inconstancy as in the application of the term pathos, and from the same reason. What appears kindly and good-natured to one man, may not appear so to another. Addison is generally classed among the humourists; yet only the other day his kindliness was described as an affectation put on to sharpen the sting of his ridicule. Johnson spoke of his "malevolent wit and humorous sarcasm"; and the present writer believes that it would be difficult to find, among all Addison's papers, half-a-dozen in which the wit may not fairly be characterised as malicious. He is a humourist to us, but he could hardly have appeared a humourist to his victims.

There is another cause of difference among critics as respects particular compositions. A reader may refuse to acknowledge a degradation, however comical. He may view an object too seriously to allow that it should be trifled with. A recent critic professes himself blind to the humour of De Quincey, and sees in his playful liberties with distinguished names nothing but frivolous impertinence. In all such cases, as De Quincey himself says, "not to sympathise is not to understand."

ELEGANCIES OF STYLE-MELODY, HARMONY, TASTE.

"In the harmony of periods," says Blair, "two things may be considered. First, agreeable sound, or modulation in general without any particular expression. Next, the sound so ordered as tc become expressive of the sense."

Instead of expressing qualities so different by a single term, it is better to provide a term for each. In accordance with the acceptation of melody and harmony in the vocabulary of music, we may describe "agreeable sound or modulation in general" as Melody, and "the sound so ordered as to become expressive of the sense as Harmony. If a single designation is wanted for the two qualities together, we may, agreeably to Campbell's list of qualities, call them the music of composition.

Under Melody there are two things that we may consider. First, whether an author conforms to the general laws of melody, -the avoiding of harsh effects; the alternation of long and short, emphatic and unemphatic syllables; the alternation of consonants among themselves, and vowels among themselves; the avoiding of unpleasant alliterations; the cadence at the close. Second, what is his prevailing rhythm, tune or strain, and how far this is varied.

To examine how far an author observes the general rules of melody would be a good school exercise. It is not easy to give an idea of an author's favourite strain. The only means open to us is to produce characteristic specimens. We have as yet no scheme of nomenclature or notation for describing it technically.

Some writers, perhaps the majority, can impart no characteristic swing to their language-either having no natural preference for a particular rhythm, or giving their whole attention to the expression of the meaning, or being overruled by habitual combinations. Only such as have, first, a decided ear for effects of cadence, and, secondly, a copious choice of words, can attain to a melody that shall be either characteristic or effective.

As regards Harmony. There is such a thing as harmony, or adaptation of sound to sense, even in prose. At the same time, change of strain or movement to suit change of theme is not so marked in prose as in poetry, and for a very obvious reason. The writer of verse can suit himself to variations of feeling by choice of metre, but the writer of prose has no such fixed steps to help him to vary his pace. Besides, the prose writer's habits of construction are accommodated to his prevailing rhythm; the phrases that most readily occur to him are in pace with this rhythm,-so that, along with a greater difficulty than the verse writer in changing his pace, owing to the want of a standard metre, he has a

farther difficulty that besets none but verse writers accustomed only to one metre.

Accordingly, we find that prose writers having a characteristic rhythm, can vary it but slightly to harmonise with the subject

matter.

The word taste is used in two different senses; and when we meet with the word, and are disposed to challenge its application, we do well to make sure in which signification our author employs it. In its widest sense it is equivalent to artistic sensibility-as Blair defines it, "the power of receiving pleasure from the beauties of nature and of art." In its narrower sense it may be expressed as artistic judgment, being identical with what Blair and others define as 66 delicacy" and "correctness" of taste. By writers of the present day the word seems to be generally used in the nar rower sense; and in this sense it is used in the following work.

As regards what artistic judgment is there may be wide differences of opinion. Many men, many tastes; one man's liking may be another man's loathing. Still, when all has been said that can be said concerning differences of taste, it cannot be denied that there is a considerable body of agreement. To take the elements of style separately. There is a tolerably unanimous public opinion against interlarding English composition with foreign words or idioms, Latin, French, or German; against needless coining of new words; and against setting up of unidiomatic combinations. No writer could make an excessive use of any artifice of construction -balanced sentences, short sentences, condensed sentences, abrupt and startling transitions-without incurring general censure. as regards figures of speech: a style too ornate, too hyperbolical, too declamatory, is condemned as such by the critics with very considerable unanimity. Marked abuses of the elements of style are very generally recognised as abuses. To be sure, if a writer is otherwise fresh and vigorous, all read him; and even fastidious critics wink at his eccentricities as an agreeable break in the general monotony of composition; but few venture to hold up his eccentricities for general imitation.

So

Concerning the emotional qualities of style we find much less agreement. There are always a few of wider literary knowledge and superior discernment who groan inwardly, some of them outwardly, at the judgment of the multitude in the matter of sublimity, pathos, and humour. And these apart, writers and their admirers separate naturally into different schools. Taste "varies with the emotional constitution, the intellectual tendencies, and the education of each individual. A person of strong tender feelings is not easily offended by the iteration of pathetic images; the sense of the ludicrous and of humour is in many cases entirely

wanting; and the strength of humane and moral sentiment may be such as to recoil from inflicting ludicrous degradation. A mind bent on the pursuit of truth views with distaste the exaggerations of the poetic art. Each person is by education attached more to

one school or class of writers than to another."

KINDS OF COMPOSITION.

Five "kinds of composition" are set down in Bain's Rhetoricdescription, narration, exposition, persuasion, poetry.1

Each of these kinds has a special method, a special body of rules. The student who has mastered everything that has been given under the "Elements" and the "Qualities" of style, has still something to learn.

We have already remarked that the three divisions adopted in this work are distinguished not as separate component parts, but only as different aspects or different ways of approach. We have said that under either the "Elements of Style," the "Qualities of Style," or the "Kinds of Composition," a complete survey might be taken of all the arts of style. When we come to consider the kinds of composition, we see that this remark needs a farther limitation. The kinds of composition may be subdivided, and under each of the subdivisions might be included a complete survey of the arts of style. Every precept of style laid down under the "Elements" and the "Qualities" might be repeated under Description, Narration, and Exposition. Whoever wishes to describe well, narrate well, and expound well, would be all the better for knowing every good advice that can be given in the departments prior in the order of our sketch. Persuasion, again, embraces everything prior to it. There is no precept of style that may not be useful to the orator or the persuasive writer. "Rhetoric" is another name for the whole art of composition.

DESCRIPTION, NARRATION, EXPOSITION. These three kinds of composition may be roughly distinguished as follows: Description embraces all the means of representing in words particular "objects of consciousness," whether external things or states of mind; narration, all the means of representing particular sequences of events; exposition, all the means of representing general propositions. These may be taken as rough definitions of them in their elemental purity; in actual composition they are almost always mixed.

For the simplest forms of description, narration, and exposition, special rules would be of no practical use—would be affected and superfluous. It is only in the more complicated and difficult forme

1 The design of the present work excludes Poetry, both with and without the accompaniment of metre.

that precepts become of service, and then they may be said to be indispensable.

The main difficulty in description arises "when we have to describe a varied scene- -the array of a battle, a town, a prospect, the exterior or interior of a building, a piece of machinery, the geography of a country, the structure of a plant or an animal." It is to this difficulty that the special rules of description apply. Burke and Macaulay are often said to possess great descriptive power. But, as we shall see, this can mean only that they present with vividness the individual particulars or striking aspects of a scene. Neither of them possesses great descriptive method. Carlyle may be said to have raised the standard of descriptive method; Alison also, and later Mr Kinglake, are very studied in their descriptions.

The principles of description, as stated in Bain's Rhetoric, are perhaps the best defined and the least liable to exception of all precepts relating to composition. No person can describe a complicated scene well without consciously or unconsciously satisfying these conditions; and a person with a moderate command of language, by adhering to these conditions, will surpass at least as regards the first essential of drawing a clear picture—the undisciplined efforts of very high genius.

No such exactness of plan is attainable for the narration of complicated events. Still, it is possible to point out to the historian his chief liabilities to confusion, and put him so far upon his guard.

We defined the fundamental idea of narration as being the representation of particular sequences of events. But History in its actual development is a much more complex affair. De Quincey recognises three modes of history: Narrative (a record of public transactions); Scenical (a study of picturesque effects); and Philosophical (a reasoned explanation of events). These are real distinctions, and we are not sure that they might not be multiplied. Not that extant histories may be divided into these three classes -such a work as Macaulay's History of England' attempts to combine the three modes-but these distinctions point to three different functions of History. The historian may simply record public transactions without attempting to explain them or draw lessons from them, and without any effort to describe splendid spectacles or interesting incidents. He may give his principal care to making the record of events instructive, may have a studious eye to the lessons of political and social wisdom, or he may give his principal care to making the record of events scenically or dramatically interesting. Now, without saying that these three functions should be kept distinct-that a history should be either plainly narrative, or philosophical, or scenical, and should not