promise that they shall be fully refuted before we close.

But it is not only of importance to judge of the proper chain-work of arguments; but also to determine the order and form of single arguments in our discourse. Sometimes one form is more proper or more courteous than another: as a hypothetical than a categorical; and sometimes it requires a delicate judgment to determine whether we shall state the conclusion first, and then proceed to prove it; or announce the premisses first, and deduce the conclusion. In many cases, if the conclusion be a proposition well known, whether easy of proof or not; or if it be a new statement, which, when enunciated, will have general claims upon popular belief, it may be stated first, and the premisses may be added as proof, if it be desired. In most cases, indeed, if the proof be forthcoming, this is a strong order, because, if by the statement of the proposition, a shadow of doubt for a moment arise in the mind, there is an appearance of moral force exerted in bringing forward premisses to sweep away the doubt, and vindicate the truth of the assertion.

It is also a good rule, in the array of proofs, to state the most general first, and then to come down to particulars, as narrowing the circle of the proof and concentrating it at last upon the given point.

It will be manifest that, in purely argumentative discourse, all the parts of discourse enumerated bc

come absorbed in the proposition and the discussion. They begin with the inquiry as to the truth of the proposition, and end when the array of proofs and the refutation of objections is completed; but in most forms of discourse this is not so. We pass to the last enumerated among the parts of a discourse.

5. The Conclusion or ending of discourse was called peroratio by the Latins, and choyos, by the Greeks.

As in the case of argumentative discourse, just mentioned, the conclusion may be sometimes designed to close, and sum up the arguments, in which case it is called the conclusion confirmatory; sometimes it will, after the completion of the discourse, be in the form of a slight explanation at the close; in this event it is termed an explanatory conclusion.

But, in general, the conclusion is the scope and province of persuasion; it is here, in general, that after explanation, and argument, and refutation, that the subject of the discourse thus substantiated is applied to the heart, with the design of influencing the will, and leading to some new and specific action.

It has not been unusual to classify, as one of the parts of a discourse, what is called the Recapitulation; or a brief but comprehensive summary in proper order of the discourse itself: to refresh the mind on all its points, and fix it in the memory. But this is not a necessary part of the discourse, although frequently of good effect.

Sometimes it is very forcibly used just after the discussion of the proposition, to state, or rather to enumerate the arguments adduced, in the inverted order, running back the chain just linked together, and testing, as it were, its validity and power.

No more than a general idea can be given of this subject of arrangement, for, linked as it is indissolubly with the invention of discourse, it depends very much upon the characteristics of judgment and fancy in each individual, and each great genius has invented, as it were, an arrangement for himself, which partakes of his own originality.

What has been offered, however, will serve to guide the student in the general structure of discourse, and to give him a set of rules with which to try and practise his own powers.

(82.) The Three Unities.

Included in the general subject of Arrangement is the maintenance, throughout a discourse, of what are called the Three Unities-of Action, Time, and Place.

This seems to be a French theory, founded upon a passage in the Poetics of Aristotle; and it has been applied principally to the Drama. To possess these unities was long regarded as the chief merit of a dramatic composition; and is also to be regarded as of

great importance in works of pictorial art. To explain these, let us consider them in their order. A chain of connected facts contains an interest and pleasure which is entirely wanting in an incongruous and disconnected mass. Unity of action, then, consists in having but one main plot. Take, for example, the events in the life of an individual, as narrated in his biography; they are all united by the single figure which moves with their current; and thus unity of action is attained. This kind of unity must be found in the epic, the drama, and the fable, by which the ancients included all that we now express by romance, novel, and tale; and this unity aids in giving to each the Aristotelian requisites of a discourse, viz., the beginning, the middle, and the end, of an entire action.

This is more or less applicable to every discourse; but in History, or at least in the chronicle history, less than in any other form, is the unity of action to be found, since such history is the record of many and incongruous events. But in the higher studies of history, to him who is enabled to recognise the invariable laws at work, and to philosophize from remote causes to distant effects, a unity of great action is disclosed, and we are charmed with the power which ranges the myriad events like well-ordered troops into their own places, symmetrically fixed, and presenting beauty and order in the great story.

It is evident that when the plot is determined upon and laid down, all episodes, of whatever degree of interest, mar the unity of action. Such are the tales, bearing no relation to the main story, which are found in Gil Blas, and in certain of Dickens's novels. And thus sometimes this unity of action is a fault, since it interferes with charming episodes which would please by their novelty and freshness. It is characteristic of the present period, that literature is in some degree relieved of the severe trammels of this unity; and that while the general plot is preserved, the incidental interruptions are permitted, and lend the interest of novelty and freshness to the work.

The Unity of time, as proposed by the Greeks, and adopted by the French, demanded that the period supposed in the drama should not exceed twenty-four hours. This is at present entirely inadmissible, and has marred the beauty and interest, not only of the Greek and Roman drama, but of Addison and the French tragedists, who have imitated the classic models.

The Unity of place required that the same scene should be kept before the spectator during the entire piece. This most monotonous formula has been disregarded in the modern drama, a chief attraction of which is the presentation of new, varied, and rich scenery, in which art counterfeits nature with rare success. But in a single Act of the modern drama, which