is MINE I will repay saith the Lord :”- "therefore if thine enemy hunger, starve him; if he thirst give him no drink.” "Dearly beloved avenge yourselves."

The reader is requested not to examine Rom. 12-19-21, or he may imagine the Bible teaches the opposite doctrine: and that when Jehovah says vengeance is mine, he means that it is not ours, and therefore commands us 66 NOT to avenge ourselves."

In this way these murderers would find no motives to help their criminality, by reading the Bible. But we Reasoners, like Priests, be take ourselves to non-natural senses, and read the Bible backwards, rather than allow it to escape. "It requires a moral diagnosis of the facts, to shew that crimes are to be referred to religion:" we must first confound the Old Testament with the New; regard God's providential and judicial acts in driving out the Canaanites for their wickedness, as patterns for private murder, because vengeance belongeth only unto God: we must first mistake Judaism and try Christians by this mistake: we must carefully overlook the New Testament arguments, that we are told to be "kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you. Be ye therefore followers of God as dear children; And walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us.”(Eph. iv. 32. v. 1, 2.)

How natural it was for Rush and the Mannings to find arguments from this source. "Probably religion in their course of thought may have justified the murders." O'Connor had done the Mannings" an ill turn," therefore the Bible justified their revenge.

It is true the following passages seem to make against the doctrine; but a true reasoner will look to Old Testament wars, not to New Testa ment principles. "We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren. He that loveth not his brother abideth in death. My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue; in deed and in truth.-(1 John iii. 14-18.)

but

Christians may perhaps pretend that Jesus Christ is their example, and that infidels should find revenge and murder in him. No doubt this would be a difficult task, as his last act was to forgive his murderers; but we can easily manage to omit these objectionable points.

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V.

The Nature of Man as Spiritual, Immortal, and Responsible, will be the most frequent topic of this department: though sometimes we shall introduce MISCELLANEOUS Subjects.

POETIC DICTION.-ITS USE AND ABUSE BY THE ORATORS.*

SPEECH, the vehicle of thought, next to reason of which it is the instrument, is the noblest gift of heaven. There are various degrees in the facility of speaking, from the stammering of untaught men, to the ease of conversation, and the eloquence of public orators. And though language is the common possession of mankind, in many it exists rather as a latent capacity than as a matured power; but wherever it has been carried to an extraordinary degree of perfection, it has gained the admiration of all. Homer, though delighting in the sterner scenes of warfare and bloodshed, describes with congenial admiration "the sweet speaking Nestor, the shrill orator of the Pylians, from whose tongue language flowed sweeter than honey." Nor do any of this author's heroes appear more noble, with all their valour, than the "discreet Ulysses" by his eloquence.

แ

Whether speech itself, or merely the capacity of acquiring it, was the original endowment of mankind, would be too wide a subject for discussion here; but that it is the chief source of amelioration cannot be doubted. Nor have we any difficulty in sympathizing with the poet, when, considering this high distinction of human nature, he celebrates eloquent Mercury, the grandson of Atlas, the messenger of great Jove, and of the gods, who shaped the fierce manners of newly-formed men by the faculty of speech." (Horace, lib. I. carmen x.) But not only was he thus the messenger of the gods; he was, if we may continue the pagan metaphor, also the messenger of men; both by conveying from one to another what was godlike within them; and by carrying up to the gods the gratitude and worship of mankind.

There is a great variety in the styles of speech cultivated by men; but the most obvious distinction is into prose and poetry. Yet even these * We reluctantly postpone a contribution promised last month,—a criticism on previous articles, lest we should give our readers over much logic at one time. And have chosen rather to give a little rhetoric. This article on Poetic Diction, from the pen of a writer to the "Bible and the People," originally appeared in the Biblical Review. The cessation of that Review, together with the peculiar class of readers amongst whom it circulated, leads us to republish the article, as being both interesting to persons in general, and especially useful to students for the ministry, and aspirants to public speaking, amongst our intelligent working men, for whom our labours are intended.

are not so clearly marked as to be easily distinguished; they also slide into each other; and the difference can be clearly seen only when we look far away from the narrow boundary which separates them.

We shall not attempt a strict definition; only a description can be ventured of things that differ chiefly in degree. Poetry is essentially elevating it adorns fact: its portraits are more brilliant than the originals: it is genius giving its own hues to nature. Carlyle calls poetry "musical thought; the idea is, no doubt, pretty, but not very tangible; and yet, perhaps, on this very account, it is the more suitable as a description of poetry. Whether poetry consists in the idea, or in the form of the expression, it is not very easy to determine; perhaps it is chiefly in the conception; but this naturally leads to a corresponding style of language called "poetic diction." To a great extent, this kind of diction involves poetical conceptions, not as whole pieces of art, but as tints and shades; since every particular word is a heightening of the idea connected with the object which the word denotes. Hence we regard poetic imagery generally as involved in the employment of poetic language; and so we shall treat of them as convertible.

Most languages have sets of words peculiarly adapted to poetry, and other words suited to prose; the former glance at things in a secondary light, and regard them under some more elevated view than they at first present; the latter denote things as they are supposed to be in reality; or as they obviously appear. The language of poetry is less familiar; prose deals in "household words," it is the undress of every-day life. There is also an obvious mechanical difference in their framework, or general structure; poetry being distinguished by a peculiar metrical regularity; yet, doubtless, there is some sort of measure even in prose, though not so distinct and formal. Poetry then, by way of a loose definition, may be called, elevated conceptions expressed in appropriate language, and subject to a definite measure. By elevated conceptions we do not mean absolutely lofty, but lifted above the common and obvious conception of the things described. So far, then, as prose possesses these characteristics, it partakes of the nature of poetry. There is a roundness, majesty, and fulness of sound, in the general style of poetic prose; it is not an easy shambling walk; but a soldier-like march. Yet, as we have said, poetry and prose slide into each other; but the latter is for matters of fact and the business of life; the former is more adapted to retired leisure. Poetry has an ideal world transcending the real one; a bower of grace and loveliness in which we sit luxuriantly, contemplating nature as a universal Eden. But even in actual business the vehemence and loftiness of passion sometimes lift us into the region of poetry; hence the mixing up of poetry and prose, and the origin of this present discussion. Poetry is of two kinds, of the intellect and of the heart; of the imagination and of the affections; based on brilliant ideas, or on vivid feelings; imaginative and pathetic. The merely imaginative is, for the most part, misplaced in oratory; it is false taste; it is playing with conceits and puns, instead of going right on with the business in hand. The imaginative, whose end is simply ornament, is exclusively adapted to professed poetry, as in descriptive pieces. Both intellectual poetry, and the diction proper to it, want pathos; it is clear, but cold; it has light

but no warmth, and hence is unsuitable to true oratory. Shelley is the best specimen of it; in his larger pieces he has it to excess, even for poetry. His lambent flame plays about the head, but does not kindle in the heart; it sheds forth clear cold moonbeams on some frosty night. His radiance is not summer sunshine; he has brilliancy without glow. He has built for us a glittering ice-palace.

This sort of poetry, and the diction expressive of it, and partaking of its character, are therefore unsuited to eloquence. Its coldness is an objection to it, and it is ill-adapted for oratory, because it is artificial. In general its beauty is forced; the flowers it cultivates are sickly exotics. True genius has a home satisfaction that can dispense with what is extrinsic. Truth will not be bedecked; it demands an acknowledgment that right and truth are ornament and dignity. It is further ineffective, as it aims not at the true object of oratory, conviction and persuasion; but rests in itself. The means become the end. Poetical diction, in so far as it adorns the style, is false eloquence; but in so far as it adorns the subject, it is appropriate. To leave an impression that one has spoken eloquently on liberty, is beside the mark; but to leave on the minds of the auditory an enthusiastic admiration of liberty as the true greatness of civil life, is to accomplish a legitimate end. The diction of the orator is a picture, that seeks not admiration of itself but love for the original. Hence the style should be so transparent as to throw a clear light on the subject; not to dazzle by its own prismatic hues. It is a window we are to see through, not stained glass we are to look at. An oration should leave men filled with the subject, not with itself; whatever diminishes the unity of this effect stands in the way of the orator's proper end. But all ornaments for mere beauty are there simply for their own sake; whereas nothing should be introduced but what an interest in the subject excites, which will never be the superficial beauty of a fanciful poetry, but the poetry of the heart.

There are, moreover, certain laws of mind which a profusion of this kind of imagery directly violates. Argument and persuasion appeal to human nature, and should therefore conform to it. This false taste violates, first, that law of mind in accordance with which impressions diminish on frequent repetition, Whatever is glaring strikes most at first, but the eye gets used to it, and tired of it. So does the mind become familiar with florid eloquence: it has seen the lightning and heard the thunder too often to be terrified; all is now blank cartridge, or a mere flash in the pan. Uniform poetic brilliancy by this means becomes flat prose.

The second law of mind which this false oratory violates is that which requires a conception to aid and preserve an impression. If the intellect be not employed, the enjoyment of the senses flags; the melody of sweet sounds may possibly give a kind of physical pleasure; but there must be some association or idea connected with it, or the ear is soon palled; the music must remind us of old scenes or old friends, or be associated with present festive joy, and set fancy afloat on the wings of melody, or it must be "married to immortal verse," and become itself more ravishing, whilst it deepens the sentiments of the poet. A bold outline of natural scenery may, at first, impress us with wonder and admiration; but to

continue these feelings we must see the scene alive with the busy actors of a bygone age; their departed spirits must revisit the scenes of their mortal life; they must walk abroad and give interest to the place; it will thus stand to us as the index of ancient times. Thus we want an idea to continue and deepen an impression. They feel most interest in a thing, who know most about it. If we have nothing to think about, we cannot feel long or deeply, whatever we may have to listen to or stare at. The eye and the ear soon get tired if the mind is not interested. The same principle is applicable to oratory; poetical imagery must not take the place of clear ideas, of really instructive and interesting thoughts. There can be no conviction nor passion without a conception; we must have the key to the understanding to find the way into the heart. If we would nurse wrath, we must think of injuries received or intended; if we would excite pity, we must give a conception of distress. Poetical imagery sometimes heightens these representations, but it must not be of that kind which dazzles by its own beauty.

The third law of mind which a profusion of poetic imagery violates, is, that the mind naturally reposes in what is ordinary. A style habitually florid seeks to keep the mind on the stretch; whereas "Apollo sometimes wakes with his harp the silent muse, nor always bends his bow." The mind is not like the troubled sea; its waves must sometimes subside; its natural condition is a calm: it must only occasionally be lashed and agitated. Nor is this principle less true of the feelings connected with admiration than of our more turbulent passions. Inordinately continued finery is, therefore, sure to outrun our sympathies: our minds are but moderately provided with explosive mixtures; we have but a small surplus of feeling and admiration to throw away: if the mendicant be too obstreperous and insolent in his demands, we refuse him that which we may occasionally afford to modest worth. This palpable effort to carry our wonder by storm, leads us to fortify our castle, and close the gates against such an unwelcome intruder. We can entertain a begging minstrel on a Christmas or a new year's day, but must not be dinned with a fiddle or bagpipe, nor yet with tales and songs, the whole year round. There is a time for everything: our staple duties and joys are household. If our enjoyments aim at perpetual elevation and ecstasy, even luxuries turn into necessaries; and because what is extraordinary cannot lift us to itself, it comes down to our level, and itself becomes ordinary, so that this excessive labour and over refinement is thrown away. True oratory, therefore will be plain, homely, and masculine-in other words, natural; stooping generally to the actual walks of life, and only occasionally refreshing us with a flight upwards.

Having thus considered the defects of a too ornate or florid oratory, namely, that it is cold, artificial, and distracting; and having shown that it violates several laws of that very mind which it appeals to; we shall next inquire, wherein adorned language, or poetic diction, is appropriate and useful. In the first place, ornament in general should be subordinate. The chief characteristics of true oratory, are clearness and force; the one to give ideas, the other to urge to a course of action consistent with those ideas. So far as ornament aids in this, it is to be admitted: but it must come of itself; for, if it be laboured after, it will be seen to be the