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as well as inscrutable. (6) We know and discern them “with unhesitating and invincible assurance."

Sentences (1) and (2) might be combined into one, from the closeness of the relationship; the second merely iterates, in another form, the substance of the first. The passage is argumentative, and the third sentence begins the refutation of what is alleged in the two previous; the remainder of the paragraph being occupied with the argument. The substance of (3) is that ultimate feelings must be both indisputable and distinct. The fourth sentence repeats and expands those two criteria, and adduces the specific examples of hunger and thirst. Here the paragraph might end, inasmuch as the argument is now concluded. But the author adds two more sentences, which do nothing but iterate (3). If such iteration were necessary, which may be the case, it should have been without a break; that is (3), (5) and (6) should have come together, and been followed by (4), which gives the clenching illustration from hunger and thirst.

The chief cause of dislocation is a very obvious one. As a writer pursues his exposition, he hits out improved statements and enforcements of what he has already said; he does not care to put these in their proper place, so as either to supersede or support the previous statements, but sets them down at the points where they occur to him.

The next paragraph is from Channing:

"(1) It is chiefly through books that we enjoy intercourse with superior "minds; and these invaluable means of communication are in the reach "of all. (2) In the best books great men talk to us, give us their most precious thoughts, and pour their souls into ours. (3) God be thanked "for books. (4) They are the voices of the distant and the dead, and “make us heirs of the spiritual life of past ages. (5) Books are the true "levellers. (6) They give to all who will faithfully use them, the society, "the spiritual presence, of the best and greatest of our race. (7) No "matter how poor I am; no matter though the prosperous of my own "time will not enter my obscure dwelling; if the sacred writers will enter "and take up their abode under my roof; if Milton will cross my threshold to sing to me of Paradise, and Shakespeare to open to me the worlds of "imagination and the workings of the human heart, and Franklin to "enrich me with his practical wisdom, I shall not pine for want of "intellectual companionship, and I may become a cultivated man though "excluded from what is called the best society in the place where I live."

Here, sentence (1) embraces two distinct ideas not very closely connected; and the second clause is most nearly related to the thoughts expressed in (5) and (7). Sentence (3) is a very general observation interjected in the midst of more definite statements; besides, it comes between two sentences that are closely connected.

The paragraph admits of being re-arranged as follows:—(3) might stand at the beginning as an introductory exclamation. After this would follow (1), first clause, (2), (6), (4). All these bear on the same idea, that books bring us into contact with the greatest minds; and (4) would serve very well as the last sentence on this point, being a kind of general and emphatic summing up of the thought. Then (1), second clause, might be united into one sentence with (5), thus: 'Books are the true levellers, for these invaluable means of communication with the greatest minds are within the reach of all.' (7) would then serve very well as an expansion of this special idea, and as an appropriate close of the whole paragraph.

The following extract will yet farther illustrate the advantages of Consecutive Arrangement.

"(1) These sufferings are really felt. (2) The beasts of the field are 'not so many automata without sensation, and just so constructed as to give forth all the natural signs and expressions of it. (3) Nature hath not practised this universal deception upon our species. (4) These poor animals just look, and tremble, and give forth the very indications of "suffering that we do. (5) Theirs is the distinct cry of pain.

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(6) Theirs

"is the unequivocal physiognomy of pain. (7) They put on the same aspect of terror on the demonstrations of a menaced blow. (8) They "exhibit the same distortions of agony after the infliction of it. (9) The bruise, or the burn, or the fracture, or the deep incision, or the fierce "encounter with one of equal or superior strength, just affects them 'similarly to ourselves. (10) Their blood circulates as ours. (11) They "have pulsations in various parts of the body like ours. (12) They "sicken, and they grow feeble with age; and, finally, they die just as we "do. (13) They possess the same feelings; and, what exposes them to "like suffering from another quarter, they possess the same instincts "with our own species. (14) The lioness robbed of her whelps causes the "wilderness to ring aloud with the proclamation of her wrongs; or the "bird whose little household has been stolen, fills and saddens all the grove with melodies of deepest pathos. (15) All this is palpable even to the general and unlearned eye; and when the physiologist lays open "the recesses of their system by means of that scalpel, under whose "operation they just shrink and are convulsed as any living subject of our own species, there stands forth to view the same sentient apparatus, "and furnished with the same conductors for the transmission of feeling "to every minutest pore upon the surface. (16) Theirs is unmixed and "unmitigated pain-the agonies of martyrdom, without the alleviation "of the hopes and sentiments, whereof they are incapable. (17) When "they lay them down to die, their only fellowship is with suffering; for "in the prison-house of their beset and bounded faculties, there can no "relief be afforded by communion with other interests or other things. '(18) The attention does not lighten their distress as it does that of man, "by carrying off his spirit from that existing pungency and pressure "which might else be overwhelming. (19) There is but room in their "mysterious economy for one inmate; and that is, the absorbing sense of "their own single and concentrated anguish. (20) And so in that bed of torment, whereon the wounded animal lingers and expires, there is an "unexplored depth and intensity of suffering which the poor dumb "animal itself cannot tell, and against which it can offer no remon

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"strance; an untold and unknown amount of wretchedness, of which no "articulate voice gives utterance. (21) But there is an eloquence in its "silence; and the very shroud which disguises it, only serves to aggravate "its horrors."

The arrangement of this paragraph may be shortly stated as follows. Animal sufferings are real, not merely apparent (1-3). Animals show the same expressions of pain as ourselves (4-9); their circulation is the same (10, 11); so is their decay and death (12); they have also the same instincts, exposing them to pains (13, 14); and the same sentient apparatus is revealed by science (15). Moreover, their pain is unalleviated by the sentiments and hopes that help men to bear pain (16); and especially, they cannot enjoy the sympathy of other beings (17-19). Thus their pain is a vast unknown quantity, all the more impressive from its inarticulate nature (20, 21).

Reviewing this arrangement, we may observe that it is neither the most natural nor the most effective for its purpose. The broad outlines of the arrangement are quite appropriate: first, the reality of the suffering (1-3); then the proofs of the reality (4-15); next, the aggravations of the suffering (16-19); and lastly, a general enforcement of these aggravations (20, 21). But under the second and longest of these divisions, several changes might be made. The reference to the circulation (10, 11) has little relevancy, unless it were made much wider-that their bodily structure in general is the same as ours; in any case it has no affinity with the last point noticed here, the sentient apparatus. Then, their decay and death (12) has not much connection with their circulation (10, 11), though it might have relation to a more general statement of bodily resemblance to men. Farther, the mention of the sentient apparatus revealed by science (15) should stand immediately after the enumeration of their ordinary expressions of pain, instead of being separated from it by half-a-dozen sentences dealing with other subjects.

Carrying out these changes, we should have the following arrangement. We may drop altogether the mention of the circulation (10, 11). Then the reality of animal sufferings may be shown, first, from the similarity of their expressions of pain to our own (4-9); next, their sickness, decay, and death, are like ours (12); and farther, beyond what is seen by the ordinary eye, science reveals the same sentient apparatus for the transmission of feeling (15). Moreover, they have the same instincts as ourselves, from which much of their pain is derived (13, 14). Thus we prove the fact of animal suffering, in a natural and impressive order, from common observation of the pain, from scientific knowledge of it, and from their wider community of nature with us.

It constantly happens that a topic is related to several others; and, as composition can move only in one line, it may be impossible to bring a paragraph into entire accordance with the law. In such cases, we must be content to study the greatest proximity of related topics on the whole.

Considered as a piece of poetry, the soliloquy of Hamlet bears examination for paragraph arrangement. The theme -To be or not to be,' -is put at the commencement, and

is followed out on a consecutive plan. First is a concrete expansion or iteration of the alternative, namely, whether to suffer the ills of fortune or to take arms and end them'. Next is the real point-What is death? Is it a perfect sleep, or is it a sleep ruffled with dreams? Here is the rub of uncertainty. This it is that makes us endure the 'whips and scorns of time,' and all the rest of the evils, so powerfully worded. The poet then repeats the uncertainty in different terms—the dread of something after death'; and gives the paralyzing effect of this on the will. He finally widens the theme, to illustrate the unfavourable influence of over-reflection and fear upon action generally,—so far departing from his original question '-'to be or not to be'.

In Tennyson's Duke of Wellington, there is an occasional dislocation of topics, that impairs the influence of the Ode as a whole.

Štanzas I., II., and III. describe in highly-adorned phraseology the circumstances of the mournful pageant, the imposing martial procession. Stanza IV. is devoted to eulogy of the Duke, as soldier and statesman; especially dwelling on his purity of motive and integrity of purpose. The sequence of topics is not on any principle, but the relationship is close enough for a poetical handling. Stanza V. furnishes an example of dislocated array. It begins with an iteration of the particulars of the pageant and makes additions to those in the first stanzas: the tolling of the bell, the towering car, the sable steeds, and finally the volleying cannon thundering his loss. The poet is betrayed by this last particular into a most unwarrantable digression from the topic of the stanza. Not satisfied with a brief admissible hint that these were familiar voices to the dead hero, he goes on to renew the panegyric upon the Duke's great deeds in putting down tyrants and guarding realms and kings from shame.

Stanza VI. makes use of the company of Nelson, whom he was to lie beside. The 'Mighty Seaman' asks the cause of this invasion of his peaceful slumbers, and is answered with the third eulogy of the Duke's career: a consecutive survey of his military doings from Assaye to Waterloo. Taken by itself, this is highly poetical, and not open to the charge of being disarranged. The address to Nelson is finely worded, and the repetition of the call to render eternal honour to the name of his compeer is a fit conclusion to the stanza.

The next Stanza, VII., renews the panegyric, chiefly adverting to his statesmanship, together with the high moral purpose of his life: regarding him as one of the men that contributed to make our nation free. Unlike the previous stanzas, it adheres to no definite line so as to be marked off from the topics dwelt upon in IV. and V.

Stanza VIII. is an attempt to show that the great Duke's devotion to duty found its reward in honours and affluence; and uses the example as an encouragement to our imitation. The order is not specially notable for good or bad.

The concluding stanza is the longest, and is very mixed in its topics; fresh language of eulogy alternating with additional allusions to the cere

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monial of the day. The chief novelty lies in anticipating the future of the Duke's reputation in this world and of his standing in the next.

This rapid review shows the purpose of the poet to be twofold; to give a poetic rendering of the gorgeous ceremony of the funeral, and to portray the virtues of the departed hero. Now, these two objects are perfectly distinct; and their separation in the treatment would have added to the impressiveness of both. Supposing the ceremonial given to begin with, the interrogatory of Nelson would make, as at present, an appropriate transition to the eulogy, which would then be consecutive on a definite plan: giving the soldier first, and next the statesman and the man. Under the actual intermingling of two different lines of thought, the reader's memory takes in nothing but such detached expressions as are more than ordinarily brilliant.

MARKING OF SUBORDINATION.

23. As in the Sentence, so in the Paragraph, Principal and Subordinate statements should have their relative importance clearly indicated.

A subject may be misapprehended as a whole, even though the individual statements about it are clearly understood, if subordinate things are regarded as principal, or mind elements in it conceived as of first-rate importance.

24. It is a maxim of style universally, that everything should have bulk and prominence according to its importance.

Relative bulk is the chief means of indicating relative importance. We have formerly seen (p. 49) that the arts of condensation are especially required for this end. Thus Gibbon says: The forms of the old administration were maintained by those faithful counsellors to whom Marcus recommended his son, and for whose wisdom and integrity Commodus still entertained a reluctant esteem’.

The following sentence occurs in De Quincey's remarks on Style: Darkness gathers upon many a theme, sometimes from previous mistreatment, but oftener from original perplexities investing its very nature. Upon the style it is, if we take that word in its largest sense-upon the skill and art of the developer-that these perplexities greatly depend for their illumination.' The main subject here is the Darkness gathering upon a theme'; the causes of the darkness are of minor importance, and should have been given more shortly, whether from natural perplexity, or from previous mistreatment'.