or whether this treatise has been extorted from me by the importunity of my friend, it was proper to obviate the censures to which it will probably expose me. And yet, even supposing that I am mistaken in my sentiments, who would shew himself so much of a savage, as to refuse me his indulgence (now all my forensic employments and public business are at an end) for not resigning myself to that stupid inactivity which is contrary to my nature, or to that unavailing sorrow which I do my best to overcome, rather than devote myself to my favourite studies? These first conducted me into the Forum and the Senate-House, and they are now the chief comforts of my retirement. I have, however, applied myself not only to such speculations as form the subject of the present Essay, but to others more sublime and interesting; and if I am able to discuss them in a proper manner, my private studies will be no disparagement to my forensic employments.
But it is time to return to our subject.—Our words, then, should be so disposed that every following one may be aptly connected with the preceding, so as to make an agreeable sound;—or that the mere form and concinnity of our language may give our sentences their proper measure and dimensions;—or, lastly, that our periods may have a numerous and measured cadence.
The first thing, then, to be attended to, is the structure of our language, or the agreeable connection of one word with another; which, though it certainly requires care, ought not to be practised with a laborious nicety. For this would be an endless and puerile attempt, and is justly ridiculed by Lucilius, when he introduces Scaevola thus reflecting upon Albucius:
"As in the checquer'd pavement ev'ry square
Is nicely fitted by the mason's care:
So all thy words are plac'd with curious art,
And ev'ry syllable performs its part."
But though we are not to be minutely exact in the structure of our language, a moderate share of practice will habituate us to every thing of this nature which is necessary. For as the eye in reading, so the mind in speaking, will readily discern what ought to follow,—that, in connecting our words, there may neither be a chasm, nor a disagreeable harshness. The most lively and interesting sentiments, if they are harshly expressed, will offend the ear, that delicate and fastidious judge of rhetorical harmony. This circumstance, therefore, is so carefully attended to in the Roman language, that there is scarcely a rustic among us who is not averse to a collision of vowels,—a defect which, in the opinion of some, was too scrupulously avoided by Theopompus, though his master Isocrates was equally cautious. But Thucydides was not so exact; nor was Plato, (though a much better writer)—not only in his Dialogues, in which it was necessary to maintain an easy negligence, to resemble the style of conversation, but in the famous Panegyric, in which (according to the custom of the Athenians) he celebrated the praises of those who fell in battle, and which was so greatly esteemed, that it is publicly repeated every year. In that Oration a collision of vowels occurs very frequently; though Demosthenes generally avoids it as a fault.
But let the Greeks determine for themselves: we Romans are not allowed to interrupt the connection of our words. Even the rude and unpolished Orations of Cato are a proof of this; as are likewise all our poets, except in particular instances, in which they were obliged to admit a few breaks, to preserve their metre. Thus we find in Naevius,
"Vos QUI ACCOLITIS histrum FLUVIUM ATQUE ALGIDUM."
And in another place,
"Quam nunquam vobis GRAII ATQUE Barbari."
But Ennius admits it only once, when he says,