flicted state of the church, and prayed for prosperity to her son, `and for a long life, and peaceable reign to Elizabeth. She declared that she hoped for mercy only through the death of Christ, at the foot of whose image she now willingly shed her blood; and lifting up and blessing the crucifix, she thus addressed : "As thy arms, O Jesus, were extended on the cross; so with the outstretched arms of thy mercy, receive me, and forgive my sins.”

She declared that she hoped for mercy only through the death of Christ. The position of the adverb only occasions some degree of ambiguity. Instead of conveying what is evidently the author's meaning, these words may imply," that through the death of Christ, she hoped for nothing besides mercy." This ambiguity, however, it would be difficult in the present instance to remove, except by adopting a quite different phraseology. Should we place the adverb after Christ, the sense would still be left ambiguous; nor could the defect be remedied by placing it after death. She thus addressed. The verb address is very seldom used in a neuter sense, except poetical compositions.

"She then prepared for the block, by taking off her veil and upper garments; and one of the executioners rudely endeavouring to assist, she gently checked him, and said, with a smile, that she had not been accustomed to undress before so many spectators, nor to be served by such valets. With calm but undaunted fortitude, she laid her neck on the block; and while one executiorer held her hands, the other, at the second stroke, cut off her head, which falling out of its attire, discovered her hair already grown quite grey, with cares and sorrows. The executioner held it up still streaming with blood, and the dean crying out, "So perish all queen Elizabeth's enemies," the Earl of Kent alone answered Amen, The rest of the spectators continued silent, and drowned in tears ; being incapable at that moment, of any other sentiments but those of pity or admiration."

History of Scotland, book vii.

This passage forms a very proper conclusion to the beautiful narration which we have been employed in examining.

CHAP. XXXI.

OF THE METHOD OF ATTAINING A GOOD

STYLE.

TO pretend to teach the art of fine writing by a series of mechanical rules, would be highly absurd. The young student may, however, be assisted by a few plain directions concerning the proper me. thod of attaining a style correct and elegant.

We must always endeavour to obtain a clear and precise idea of every subject of which we propose to

treat.

This is a direction which may at first appear to have little relation to style. Its relation to it, however, is extremely close. The foundation of fine writing is good sense, accompanied with a lively imagination. The style and thoughts of a writer are so intimately connected, that it is frequently a difficult task to distinguish what depends upon the one and what upon the other. Whenever the impressions of objects upon the mind are faint and indistinct, or perplexed and confused, our style in treating of such objects can never be luminous or beautiful. Whereas, what we conceive clearly and feel strongly, we shall naturally express with clearness and with strength.

This, then, we may be assured, is an important rule, to think closely of the subjeet, till we have attained a full and distinct view of the matter which we are to clothe in words, till we become warm and interested in it: then, and not till then, shall we find expression begin to flow. Generally speaking, the best and most proper expressions are those which a clear view of the subject suggests, without much labour or inquiry.

To form a good style, the frequent practice of composing is indispensably necessary. Many rules concerning style have been delivered; but no rules will answer the end without exercise and habit. At the same time, it is not every mode of composing that will improve style. This is so far from being the case, that by careless and hasty composition, we shall inevitably acquire a very bad style; we shall have more trouble afterwards in unlearning faults and correcting negligences, than if we had been totally unaccustomed to composition. At first, therefore, we ought to write slowly and with much care. Let the facility and speed of writing be the fruit of longer practice.

"I enjoin," says Quintilian," that such as are beginning the practice of composition, write slowly and with anxious deliberation. Their great object at first should be, to write as well as possible: practice will enable them to write speedily. By degrees, inatter will offer itself still more readily; words will be at hand; composition will flow; every thing, as in the arrangement of a well-ordered family, will present itself in its proper place. The sum of the whole is this: that by hasty composition, we shall never acquire the «

art of composing well; by writing well, we shall come to write speedily,”*

We must not, however, be too anxious about words; we must not retard the course of thought, nor cool the heat of imagination, by pausing too long on every word which we employ. There is, on certain occasions, a glow of composition which should be kept up if we hope to express ourselves happily, though at the expense of allowing some inadvertencies to pass. These must afterwards be scrutinized with a critical eye. If the practice of composition be useful, the laborious work of correcting is no less so; it is absolutely necessary to our reaping any benefit from the habit of composing. What we have written, should be laid aside till the ardour of composition be past, till our fondness for the expressions which we have used, be worn off, and the expressions themselves be forgotten. By reviewing our work with a cool and critical eye, as if it were the performance of another, we shall discern Imany imperfections which at first escaped our observation. It is then the season for pruning redundancies; for examining the arrangement of sentences; and for bringing style into a regular, correct, and supported form. To this labour of correction all those muct submit who would communicate their thoughts to others with proper advantage; and some practice in it will soon sharpen the eye to the most necessary objects of attention, and render the task much more ́easy and practicable than might at first be imagined.

* Quintilian, de Institut. Orator. lib. x. cap. iii,

With respect to the assistance which is to be derived from the writings of others, it is obvious that we ought <to render ourselves well acquainted with the style of the best authors. This is requisite both to form a just taste in style, and to supply us with a full stock of words on every subject.

But we must beware of falling into a servile imitation of any author whatsoever. Imitation is always dangerous. It fetters genius, and is likely to produce "a stiff manner. Those who are addicted to close imitation, generally imitate an author's faults as well as his beauties. No man will ever become a good writer or speaker, who has not some degree of confidence to follow his own genius. We ought to be aware, in particular, of adopting any author's noted phrases, or transcribing passages from him. Such a habit will prove fatal to all genuine composition. It is much better to have something that is our own, though of moderate beauty, than to affect to shine in borrowed ornaments, which will at last betray the utter poverty of our genius. A preposterous ambition to imitate or rival the characteristic manner of Dr. Johnson or Mr. Gibbon, has rendered many authors ridiculous who might otherwise have supported a respectable character. The style of each of these writers, eminent as they deservedly are, exhibits numerous faults: but whatever may be its beauties, no man of letters will ever obtain much distinction by imitating them with accurate servility. We generally find their deformities more faithfully copied than their beauties. Mr. George Chalmers, an author utterly destitute of taste, learning,

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