There are three things necessary in every kind of composition, and these
are order, correction, and number.
_1. Order_
We shall speak first of order, which applies to words considered
separately or joined together. In regard to the former, care must be
taken that there be no decrease by adding a weaker word to a stronger,
as accusing one of sacrilege, and giving him afterward the name of
thief; or adding the character of wanton fellow to that of a highwayman.
The sense ought to increase and rise, which Cicero observes admirably
where he says: "And thou, with that voice, those lungs, and that
gladiator-like vigor of thy whole body." Here each succeeding thing is
stronger than the one before; but if he had begun with the whole body,
he could not with propriety have descended to the voice and lungs. There
is another natural order in saying men and women, day and night, east
and west.
Words in prose not being measured, as are the feet which compose verse,
they are, therefore, transferred from place to place, that they may be
joined where they best fit, as in a building where the irregularity,
however great, of rough stones is both suitable and proper. The happiest
composition language can have, however, is to keep to a natural order,
just connection, and a regularly flowing cadence.
Sometimes there is something very striking about a word. Placed in the
middle of a sentence, it might pass unnoticed, or be obscured by the
other words that lie about it, but when placed at the end the auditor
can not help noting it and retaining it in his mind.
_2. Connection_
Juncture follows, which is equally requisite in words, articles,
members, and periods, all these having their beauty and faults, in
consequence of their manner of connection. It may be a general
observation that in the placing of syllables, their sound will be
harsher as they are pronounced with a like or different gaping of the
mouth. This, however, is not to be dreaded as a signal fault, and I know
not which is worse here, inattention or too great care. Too scrupulous
fear must damp the heat and retard the impetuosity of speaking, while
at the same time it prevents the mind from attending to thoughts which
are of greater moment. As, therefore, it is carelessness to yield to
these faults, so it is meanness to be too much afraid of them.
_3. Number_
Numbers are nowhere so much lacking, nor so remarkable, as at the end of
periods; first, because every sense has its bounds, and takes up a
natural space, by which it is divided from the beginning of what
follows: next, because the hearers following the flow of words, and
drawn, as it were, down the current of the oration, are then more
competent judges, when that impetuosity ceases and gives time for
reflection. There should not, therefore, be anything harsh nor abrupt in
that ending, which seems calculated for the respite and recreation of
the mind and ear. This, too, is the resting-place of the oration, this
the auditor expects, and here burst forth all his effusions of praise.