Part 3

This sword a dagger had his page, That was but little for his age; And therefore waited on him so As dwarfs upon knights-errant do. _Hudibras, canto 1._

Desciption of Hudibras’s horse:

He was well stay’d, and in his gait Preserv’d a grave, majestic state. At spur or switch no more he skipt, Or mended pace, than Spaniard whipt: And yet so fiery he would bound, As if he griev’d to touch the ground: That Cæsar’s horse, who, as fame goes, Had corns upon his feet and toes, Was not by half so tender hooft, Nor trod upon the ground so soft. And as that beast would kneel and stoop, (Some write) to take his rider up; So Hudibras his (’tis well known) Would often do, to set him down. _Canto 1._

Honour is, like a widow, won With brisk attempt and putting on, With entering manfully, and urging; Not slow approaches, like a virgin. _Canto 1._

The sun had long since in the lap Of Thetis taken out his nap; And, like a lobster boil’d, the morn From black to red began to turn. _Part 2. canto 2._

Books, like men, their authors, have but one way of coming into the world; but there are ten thousand to go out of it, and return no more.

_Tale of a Tub._

And in this the world may perceive the difference between the integrity of a generous author, and that of a common friend. The latter is observed to adhere close in prosperity, but on the decline of fortune, to drop suddenly off: whereas the generous author, just on the contrary, finds his hero on the dunghill, from thence by gradual steps raises him to a throne, and then immediately withdraws, expecting not so much as thanks for his pains.

_Tale of a Tub._

The most accomplish’d way of using books at present is, to serve them as some do lords, learn their _titles_, and then brag of their acquaintance.

_Tale of a Tub_.

Box’d in a chair, the beau impatient sits, While spouts run clatt’ring o’er the roof by fits; And ever and anon with frightful din The leather sounds; he trembles from within. So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed, Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed, (Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do, Instead of paying chairmen, run them through), Laocoon struck the outside with his spear, And each imprison’d hero quak’d for fear. _Description of a city shower. Swift._

Clubs, diamonds, hearts, in wild disorder seen, With throngs promiscuous strow the level green. Thus when dispers’d a routed army runs, Of Asia’s troops, and Afric’s sable sons, With like confusion different nations fly, Of various habit, and of various dye, The pierc’d battalions disunited, fall In heaps on heaps; one fate o’erwhelms them all. _Rape of the Lock, canto 3._

He does not consider, that sincerity in love is as much out of fashion as sweet snuff; no body takes it now.

_Careless Husband._

_Lady Easy._ My dear, I am afraid you have provoked her a little too far.

_Sir Charles._ O! Not at all. You shall see, I’ll sweeten her, and she’ll cool like a dish of tea.

_Ibid._

CHAP. XX.

FIGURES.

The reader must not expect to find here a complete list of the different tropes and figures that have been carefully noted by ancient critics and grammarians. Tropes and figures have indeed been multiplied with so little reserve, as to make it no easy matter to distinguish them from plain language. A discovery almost accidental, made me think of giving them a place in this work: I found that the most important of them depend on principles formerly explained; and I was glad of an opportunity to show the extensive influence of these principles. Confining myself therefore to figures that answer this purpose, I am luckily freed from much trash; without dropping, so far as I remember, any figure that merits a proper name. And I begin with Prosopopœia or personification, which is justly intitled to the first place.

SECT. I.

_PERSONIFICATION._

This figure, which gives life to things inanimate, is so bold a delusion as to require, one should imagine, very peculiar circumstances for operating the effect. And yet, in the language of poetry, we find variety of expressions, which, though commonly reduced to this figure, are used without ceremony or any sort of preparation. I give, for example, the following expressions. _Thirsty_ ground, _hungry_ church-yard, _furious_ dart, _angry_ ocean. The epithets here, in their proper meaning, are attributes of sensible beings. What is the effect of such epithets, when apply’d to things inanimate? Do they raise in the mind of the reader a perception of sensibility? Do they make him conceive the ground, the church-yard, the dart, the ocean, to be endued with animal functions? This is a curious inquiry; and whether so or not, it cannot be declined in handling the present subject.

One thing is certain, that the mind is prone to bestow sensibility upon things inanimate, where that violent effect is necessary to gratify passion. This is one instance, among many, of the power of passion to adjust our opinions and belief to its gratification[12]. I give the following examples. Antony, mourning over the body of Cæsar, murdered in the senate-house, vents his passion in the following words.

_Antony._ O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers. Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. _Julius Cæsar, act 3. sc. 4_.

Here Antony must have been impressed with some sort of notion, that the body of Cæsar was listening to him, without which the speech would be foolish and absurd. Nor will it appear strange, after what is said in the chapter above cited, that passion should have such power over the mind of man. Another example of the same kind is, where the earth, as a common mother, is animated to give refuge against a father’s unkindness.

_Almeria_. O Earth, behold, I kneel upon thy bosom, And bend my flowing eyes to stream upon Thy face, imploring thee that thou wilt yield; Open thy bowels of compassion, take Into thy womb the last and most forlorn Of all thy race. Hear me thou, common parent; ---- I have no parent else.---- Be thou a mother, And step between me and the curse of him, Who was--who was, but is no more a father; But brands my innocence with horrid crimes; And for the tender names of _child_ and _daughter_, Now calls me _murderer_ and _parricide_. _Mourning Bride, act. 4. sc. 7_.

Plaintive passions are extremely solicitous for vent. A soliloquy commonly answers the purpose. But when a passion swells high, it is not satisfied with so slight a gratification: it must have a person to complain to; and if none be found, it will animate things devoid of sense. Thus Philoctetes complains to the rocks and promontories of the isle of Lemnos[13]; and Alcestes dying, invokes the sun, the light of day, the clouds, the earth, her husband’s palace, _&c._[14]. Plaintive passions carry the mind still farther. Among the many principles that connect individuals in society, one is remarkable: it is that principle which makes us earnestly wish, that others should enter into our concerns and think and feel as we do[15]. This social principle, when inflamed by a plaintive passion, will, for want of a more complete gratification, prompt the mind to give life even to things inanimate. Moschus, lamenting the death of Bion, conceives that the birds, the fountains, the trees, lament with him. The shepherd, who in Virgil bewails the death of Daphnis, expresseth himself thus:

Daphni, tuum Pœnos etiam ingemuisse leones Interitum, montesque feri sylvæque loquuntur. _Eclogue_ v. 27.

Again,

Illum etiam lauri, illum etiam flevere myricæ. Pinifer illum etiam sola sub rupe jacentem Mænalus, et gelidi fleverunt saxa Lycæi. _Eclogue_ x. 13.

Again,

Ho visto al pianto mio Responder per pietate i sassi e l’onde; E sospirar le fronde Ho visto al pianto mio. Ma non ho visto mai, Ne spero di vedere Compassion ne la crudele, e bella. _Aminta di Tasso, act 1. sc. 2._

Earl Rivers carried to execution, says,

O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison, Fatal and ominous to Noble peers! Within the guilty closure of thy walls Richard the Second, here, was hack’d to death; And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink. _Richard III, act 3. sc. 4._

King Richard having got intelligence of Bolingbroke’s invasion, says, upon his landing in England from his Irish expedition, in a mixture of joy and resentment,

---- I weep for joy To stand upon my kingdom once again. Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses hoofs. As a long parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting; So weeping, smiling, greet I thee my earth, And do thee favour with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign’s foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav’nous sense: But let thy spiders that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way; Doing annoyance to the treach’rous feet, Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; And, when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pr’ythee, with a lurking adder; Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign’s enemies. Mock not my senseless conjuration, Lords: This earth shall have a feeling; and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms. _Richard II. act 3. sc. 2._

Among the ancients, it was customary after a long voyage to salute the natal soil. A long voyage, was of old a greater enterprise than at present: the safe return to one’s country after much fatigue and danger, was a circumstance extremely delightful; and it was natural to give the natal soil a temporary life, in order to sympathise with the traveller. See an example, _Agamemnon_ of Æschilus, act 3. in the beginning. Regret for leaving a place one has been accustomed to has the same effect[16].

Terror produceth the same effect. A man, to gratify this passion, extends it to every thing around, even to things inanimate:

Speaking of Polyphemus,

Clamorem immensum tollit, quo pontus et omnes Intremuere undæ penitusque exterrita tellus Italiæ. _Æneid._ iii. 672.

---- As when old Ocean roars, And heaves huge surges to the _trembling_ shores. _Iliad_ ii. 249.

And thund’ring footsteps _shake_ the sounding shore. _Iliad_ ii. 549.

Then with a voice that _shook_ the vaulted skies. _Iliad_ v. 431.

Racine, in the tragedy of _Phedra_, describing the sea-monster that destroy’d Hippolitus, conceives the sea itself to be inspired with terror as well as the spectators; or more accurately transfers from the spectators their terror to the sea, with which they were connected:

Le flot qui l’apporta recule epouvanté.

A man also naturally communicates his joy to all objects around, animate or inanimate:

---- As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odour from the spicy shore Of Araby the Blest; with such delay Well pleas’d, they slack their course, and many a league Chear’d with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles. _Paradise Lost, b. 4._

I have been profuse of examples, to show what power many passions have to animate their objects. In all the foregoing examples, the personification, if I mistake not, is so complete as to be derived from an actual conviction, momentary indeed, of life and intelligence. But it is evident from numberless instances, that personification is not always so complete. Personification is a common figure in descriptive poetry, understood to be the language of the writer, and not of any of his personages in a fit of passion. In this case, it seldom or never comes up to a conviction, even momentary, of life and intelligence. I give the following examples.

First in _his_ east the glorious lamp was seen, Regent of day, and all th’ horizon round Invested with bright rays; jocund to run _His_ longitude through heav’n’s high road: the gray Dawn, and the Pleiades before _him_ danc’d, Shedding sweet influence. Less bright the moon But opposite, in levell’d west was set _His_ mirror, with full face borrowing _her_ light From _him_; for other light _she_ needed none. _Paradise Lost, b. 7. l. 370._[17]

Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops. _Romeo and Juliet, act 3. sc. 7._

But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill. _Hamlet, act 1. sc. 1._

It may, I presume, be taken for granted, that, in the foregoing instances, the personification, either with the poet or his reader, amounts not to a conviction of intelligence; nor that the sun, the moon, the day, the morn, are here understood to be sensible beings. What then is the nature of this personification? Upon considering the matter attentively, I discover that this species of personification must be referred to the imagination. The inanimate object is imagined to be a sensible being, but without any conviction, even for a moment, that it really is so. Ideas or fictions of imagination have power to raise emotions in the mind[18]; and when any thing inanimate is, in imagination, supposed to be a sensible being, it makes by that means a greater figure than when an idea is formed of it according to truth. The elevation however in this case, is far from being so great as when the personification arises to an actual conviction; and therefore must be considered as of a lower or inferior sort. Thus personification is of two kinds. The first or nobler, may be termed _passionate personification_: the other, or more humble, _descriptive personification_; because seldom or never is personification in a description carried the length of conviction.

The imagination is so lively and active, that its images are raised with very little effort; and this justifies the frequent use of descriptive personification. This figure abounds in Milton’s _Allegro_ and _Penseroso_.

Abstract and general terms, as well as particular objects, are often necessary in poetry. Such terms however are not well adapted to poetry, because they suggest not any image to the mind: I can readily form an image of Alexander or Achilles in wrath; but I cannot form an image of wrath in the abstract, or of wrath independent of a person. Upon that account, in works addressed to the imagination, abstract terms are frequently personified. But this personification never goes farther than the imagination.

Sed mihi vel Tellus optem prius ima dehiscat; Vel pater omnipotens adigat me fulmine ad umbras, Pallentes umbras Erebi, noctemque profundam, Ante pudor quam te violo, aut tua jura resolvo. _Æneid. 4. l. 24._

Thus, to explain the effects of slander, it is imagined to be a voluntary agent:

---- No, ’tis Slander; Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue Out venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world, kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons: nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous Slander enters. _Shakespear, Cymbeline, act. 3. sc. 4._

As also human passions. Take the following example.

----For Pleasure and Revenge Have ears more deaf than adders, to the voice Of any true decision. _Troilus and Cressida, act 2. sc. 4._

Virgil explains fame and its effects by a still greater variety of action[19]. And Shakespear personifies death and its operations in a manner extremely fanciful:

---- Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; Allowing him a breath, a little scene To monarchize, be fear’d, and kill with looks; Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if his flesh, which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable; and humour’d thus, Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle-walls, and farewell king! _Richard_ II. _act 3. sc. 4_.

Not less successfully is life and action given even to sleep:

_K. Henry._ How many thousands of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O gentle Sleep, Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, Sleep, ly’st thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush’d with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; Than in the perfum’d chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull’d with sounds of sweetest melody? O thou dull god, why ly’st thou with the vile In loathsome beds, and leav’st the kingly couch, A watch-case to a common larum-bell? Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast, Seal up the ship-boy’s eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge; And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaf’ning clamours in the slipp’ry shrouds, That, with the hurly, Death itself awakes: Can’st thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; And, in the calmest and the stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low! lie down; Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. _Second Part Henry_ IV. _act 3. sc. 1_.

I shall add one example more, to show that descriptive personification may be used with propriety, even where the purpose of the discourse is instruction merely:

Oh! let the steps of youth be cautious, How they advance into a dangerous world; Our duty only can conduct us safe: Our passions are seducers: but of all, The strongest Love: he first approaches us, In childish play, wantoning in our walks: If heedlessly we wander after him, As he will pick out all the dancing way, We’re lost, and hardly to return again. We should take warning: he is painted blind, To show us, if we fondly follow him, The precipices we may fall into. Therefore let Virtue take him by the hand: Directed so, he leads to certain joy. _Southern._

Hitherto our progress has been upon firm ground. Whether we shall be so lucky in the remaining part of the journey, seems doubtful. For after acquiring some knowledge of the subject, when we now look back to the expressions mentioned in the beginning, _thirsty_ ground, _furious_ dart, and such like, it seems as difficult as at first to say what sort of personification it is. Such expressions evidently raise not the slighted conviction of sensibility. Nor do I think they amount to descriptive personification: in the expressions mentioned, we do not so much as figure the ground or the dart to be animated; and if so, they cannot at all come under the present subject. And to show this more clearly, I shall endeavour to explain what effect such expressions have naturally upon the mind. In the expression _angry ocean_, for example, do we not tacitly compare the ocean in a storm, to a man in wrath? It is by this tacit comparison, that the expression acquires a force or elevation, beyond what is found when an epithet is used proper to the object: for I have had occasion to show[20], that a thing inanimate acquires a certain elevation by being compared to a sensible being. And this very comparison is itself a demonstration, that there is no personification in such expressions. For, by the very nature of a comparison, the things compared are kept distinct, and the native appearance of each is preserved. It will be shown afterward, that expressions of this kind belong to another figure, which I term _a figure of speech_, and which employs the seventh section of the present chapter.

Though thus in general we can precisely distinguish descriptive personification from what is merely a figure of speech, it is however often difficult to say, with respect to some expressions, whether they are of the one kind or of the other. Take the following instances.

The moon shines bright: in such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently _kiss_ the trees, And they did make no noise; in such a night, Troilus methinks mounted the Trojan wall, And sigh’d his soul towards the Grecian tents Where Cressid lay that night. _Merchant of Venice, act 5. sc. 1._

---- I have seen Th’ _ambitious_ ocean swell, and rage, and foam, To be exalted with the threat’ning clouds. _Julius Cæsar, act 1. sc. 6._

_Jane Shore._ My form, alas! has long forgot to please; The scene of beauty and delight is chang’d, No roses bloom upon my fading cheek, No laughing graces wanton in my eyes; But haggard Grief, lean-looking sallow Care, And pining Discontent, a rueful train, Dwell on my brow, all hideous and forlorn. _Jane Shore, act 1. sc. 2._

With respect to these and numberless other instances of the same kind, whether they be examples of personification or of a figure of speech merely, seems to be an arbitrary question. They will be ranged under the former class by those only who are endued with a sprightly imagination. Nor will the judgement even of the same person be steady: it will vary with the present state of the spirits, lively or composed.

* * * * *

Having thus at large explained the present figure, its different kinds, and the principles from whence derived; what comes next in order is to ascertain its proper province, by showing in what cases it is suitable, in what unsuitable. I begin with observing, upon passionate personification, that this figure is not promoted by every passion indifferently. All dispiriting passions are averse to it. Remorse, in particular, is too serious and severe, to be gratified by a phantom of the mind. I cannot therefore approve the following speech of Enobarbus, who had deserted his master Antony.

Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, When men revolted shall upon record Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did Before thy face repent-------- Oh sovereign mistress of true melancholy, The poisonous damp of night dispunge upon me, That life, a very rebel to my will, May hang no longer on me. _Antony and Cleopatra, act 4. sc. 7._

If this can be justified, it must be upon the Heathen system of theology, which converted into deities the sun, moon, and stars.

* * * * *

Secondly, After a passionate personification is properly introduced, it ought to be confined strictly to its proper province, that of gratifying the passion; and no sentiment nor action ought to be exerted by the animated object, but what answers that purpose. Personification is at any rate a bold figure, and ought to be employed with great reserve. The passion of love, for example, in a plaintive tone, may give a momentary life to woods and rocks, that the lover may vent his distress to them: but no passion will support a conviction so far stretched, as that these woods and rocks should be living witnesses to report the distress to others: