it, we may perceive, by dressing it up in the following qualifying phraseology: "The sorrowful accusing spirit, which winged its way up to Heaven's eternal chancery with the oath, blushed as he gave it in, and the sympathizing recording angel dropped a blessed tear upon the odious word and blotted it out forever." In its first, and perfect form, the mind looks through it as through crystal, and is delighted with its clearness; the memory seizes its images, if not its words, and finds it difficult to let them go. And this is one of the advantages of a clear and chaste style; the memory takes a much firmer hold upon it, just as the Greek wrestler could gain a surer grasp of his naked competitor, than if he had been enveloped in the folds of a cloak.

Under a good writer, as the words guided the mind to the sense, so the sense will guide the memory to the words. It is related of an English divine, noted for his tactics, that when he was asked how often it was safe to repeat a sermon, to the same congregation, he replied: "Once in three years, if there are no white bears in it." "White bears! what are they?" "Any striking illustrations, or pointed expressions which would be likely to remain in the mind; a sermon in which these occur must not be repeated in less than six or seven years." Those who write sermons for frequent repetition will of course avoid such dangerous traits. But he who preaches to fasten his words like "nails in a sure place" will surely choose differently.

We shall better estimate the importance of terseness, and clearness of style, when we remember that they can recommend even error. Do we not often confound clearness of statement, with correctness of reasoning, and receive, for faultless logic, what is merely transparent expression? The celebrated moon hoax of Richard Locke, was no doubt commended by the excellence of its style to many, who, had it been expressed in the pompous phrase which too often muffles up Christian truth, would have rejected it as a dream. Must not the minister of Christian truth, be warned against that ambition, which may thus lead him to "take away the key of knowledge."

There is another distinction of style, which relates not

only to the stating of an argument in such manner that another can feel it, but to the stating of it in such a manner that he can use it. One of the most notable and serviceable traits of Father Ballou, was, that his arguments were not only clear to any one of moderate capacity, but they were so formed that such a capacity could reproduce and use them in their main points. This is a quality which not only makes a preacher's influence permanent, but multiplies it many fold. Scarcely any study or care can be thought too great, if it will invest one with such a power. His arguments, as you receive them, are weapons in your hands, which you can wield with something of their first effect. Few of ordinary understanding, if asked for a reason of the faith which they had received from his discourses, would be without a reply. While other preachers might be mentioned, (is it not indeed a general fault?) who though they may convince their hearers, do not in the least qualify them to convince others; for none but a mind equally subtle and refined with the preacher's, could fully retrace the course of thought. This is one notable deficiency of a style whose greatest charm lies in some delicate finish, in happy combination of words, or collocation of thoughts, or in apt illustrations and imagery. These can no more be transferred, than a rainbow can be pulled down, removed, and built up again. The hearers of such preachers are in raptures over the splendid sermons they hear, of which however they can give no account, only their general sense of delight.

No very uncommon error in respect to style, is that of imagining that words in themselves expressive of grand or beautiful objects, must add grandeur and beauty to style. Nothing more surely exposes a barbaric taste than this. Some books on style have upheld this folly by laying down the rule that comparisons and illustrations must always be drawn from beautiful objects. The rule contains a hint worth being remembered, but "wisdom is profitable to direct.” The greatest writers are in this respect the simplest, their mighty spell is woven of homely objects and modest words. We cannot make this plainer, than it is made by the subjoined examples. The first is of "the wind."

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The court of the monarch, unbidden, it enters,
And kisses the brow of the fair jewelled queen;
It scatters, in masses, the white pearls of winter,
And howls in the tempest at midnight, I ween.
The old mossy abbey, to ruin it tumbles,

And breathes through the church-yard a requiem deep;
Where the old castle towers, deserted, now crumble
To dust, o'er the wild raven's plumes it doth sweep.
It sighs through the bower of the beautiful maiden,
And plays with the leaflet, and violet pale;
It breaks the tall oak with dense foliage laden,
And bends the meek lily, the queen of the vale.
With finger unseen, now it flatters the tassel,

It streams from the casement with gay hangings spread;
And bears to destruction the proud stately vessel,
And lays the bold sailor in sea's coral bed!

Strong power, Omnipotent! I joy when it rages In nature's dominions, so free unconfined; Like the silvery tones of the lute, it assuages The fever of care, and the gloom of the mind. Here, as elements of beauty, we have jewels, pearls, queens, castles, ships, oaks, maidens, violets, lilies, tassels, &c., &c. But what is the effect of all these compacted sweets?" Very trifling. Yet the objects named are many of them beautiful. It makes no impression, however, except that of a roll-call of fine names, not one of which is answered to. Has it not been our fate sometimes to hear a similar empty roll-call in a sermon ? Have we not sometimes felt that even calling bad names would be a relief from this finery? Must we not admit, that though elsewhere it is only a folly, it becomes in the sacred desk an offence?

But let us take a lesson from a master. Let us see what he can do with a few pebbles, which he chooses from that "well of English undefiled," whose lordliest phrase was at his command. See if he uses any mouthing words. He is making the dappled (not golden,)

dawn to rise :

"While the cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn door,
Stoutly struts his dames before;
Oft listening how the hounds and horn,
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing still;

Sometimes walking, not unseen,
By hedge-row elms, on hillock green.
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great Sun begins his state,
Robed in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman, near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrowed land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale."

In this mosaic of sunrise, we find, on analysis, nothing but pebbles, not a jewel, not a rose; there is a rooster and a barn door, not even a bit of gold or silver; yet who can be insensible to the beauty of the picture? The fresh dew lies upon it. How many of us, having the same thing to do, would have heaped up the adjectives splendid, magnificent, glorious, with flowers, birds, gold, silver, diamonds, &c., until it had read like the inventory of a king's treasury and wardrobe. Milton has used but three words having reference to any human pomp,"state," "robed," and "liveries," the rest of his words, if it must be said, are low and commonplace. But does it lack beauty or even dignity?

Here we must make a plea in behalf of small words. Nothing tends more to make a stilted and pompous style, wordy and empty, than the idea that long words are to be preferred to short ones. Pope may satirize the writing where

"Ten low words oft creep in one dull line,”

but if he had taken ten long words to do it, his satire would have been powerless, and long since forgotten. It seems beyond doubt, that for all purposes of force in style, short words are by far the best. Nor are they wanting in harmony. Read for example Milton's Christmas Hymn. No mortal man, out of the same number of syllables in long words, could make a composition so effective as that. Its dense words strike like hail, or flash like sparks at a white heat. The English language is made up of small words. In one of the most magnificent passages in Holy Writ, that which describes the death of Sisera," At her feet he bowed, he fell, at her feet he bowed, he fell, he laid down, where he bowed there he

fell down dead;"-there are twenty-two monosyllables to three of greater length; or rather to one dissyllable thrice repeated, and that too, in common speech, is made a monosyllable. The passage in the Book of Ezekiel, which Coleridge is said to have pronounced the most sublime in the whole Bible-" And he said unto me, son of man can these bones live? And I answered O Lord God thou knowest"-has seventeen monosyllables to three others.

The early writers, the pure wells of English undefiled,' are full of small words. Hall, in one of the most exquisite of his satires, speaking of the vanity "of adding house to house, and field to field," says

"Fond fool! six feet shall serve for all thy store,
And he that cares for most, shall find no more."

"What harmonious monosyllables," says Mr. Gifford, "and what critic will refuse to utter his exclamation ?”2 We must lay it down as a maxim, that the sense of a sermon cannot be too great nor its words too small. And we cannot doubt, that it would be an excellent regimen for many writers of sermons, to be forbidden, for a year, all words of more than three syllables and those not to exceed the proportion of the first fourteen verses of John's Gospel, which has two hundred and one monosyllables, to twenty-eight polysyllables.

Pardon us one more illustration; for this is a pet subject with us. There is scarcely any human expression, which has more struck the world's mind, than that of Sterne"God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." But if the same idea had been expressed in twice the number of polysyllables, it might have remained unnoticed to this day, in the Sentimental Journey. The affectation of writing in monosyllables would doubtless be as bad as any other, and lead to as many follies. Yet we believe that all the forgers of Titanic sentences, are on our side. The lesson to be drawn from them in this respect is one, specially needful to preachers. Is it too much to say that there is no better single test of any style, than its terseness or density. With this quality, another one, most excellent as an antidote to sleepy hearers, is generally found, we mean suggestiveness. It is sometimes hard

2 Notes and Queries.