3) their RELATION to the idea as a whole.

We have now to consider words in their relation to the idea as a whole. Here again we find it necessary to view words (1) in their time-relation, and (2) in their truth-relation. 1. The Time-relation of Words to the Whole Idea. The time-relation of words to the idea as a whole determines the proper length of a sentence. If we could discover how great a number of wore the mind can contain at once, we might hope to name the maxi mum allowable length of a sentence. This, however is impossible, since much depends upon the cultivatior of the mind addressed, and much upon the simplicity or complexity of sentential structure. It has been ob¬served that some speakers can frame a very long period in which the verb comes last, without losing the nomi¬native. Others cannot proceed far without losing sight of it. Cases differ so widely that no definite rule can be laid down. Long sentences are not generally objectionable be¬cause of their length ; but more frequently because of a faulty arrangement. Without them majestic move¬ment, full description, climax, variety, and accurately modified thought, cannot be expressed. A succession of short sentences becomes monotonous, unless relieved by unusual sprightliness of utterance or epigrammatic meaning. The reading classes have now become so accustomed to long sentences that, if these are clear, well arranged, and grow as they advance, they occasion little difficulty in the mind of a reader. Unquestion¬ably, more interpreting power is required to translate into thought a long sentence than a short one ; but generally less power is needed than would be required to obtain possession of the same thought if expressed in a succession of short sentences. When this is the case economy of power does not preclude the use of long sentences. A statement requiring great modifica¬tion in order to make it appear true if put in a short sentence and afterward modified by a series of others, would often so savor of paradox as to evoke the oppo¬sition of the reader ; and then more mental power would be expended in overcoming this antagonism than would be required in the interpretation of a sen¬tence containing a series of conditions before the full enunciation of the conclusion. A strange stupidity has been exhibited in the wholesale condemnation of long sentences on the ground of length alone. The principal difference between one long sentence and a series of short ones together expressing the same idea, is, that in the long sentence the relation of the parts, —temporal, causal, or illative,—is expressly stated; while in a series of short ones it is left to be inferred. Holding this in mind, it is plain that the long sentence, with a proper arrangement, may often have the advan¬tage over a series of short ones. The principle which must always determine the length is the idea to be expressed. How this affects the case will presently appear. 2. The Truth-relation of Words to the Whole Idea. The truth-relation of words requires us to consider (1) the power of words to indicate collateral and suc¬ceeding ideas, or, suggestiveness ; and (2) the effect of words upon the whole expression, or, unity. (1) Sagged'Vene88.—Suggestiveness relates (1) to the Development of the idea ; and (2) to Collaterals associated more or less loosely. 1) The Development of the Idea.—Mr. Landor makes Phocian say that " Thucydides and Demosthenes lay it down as a rule, never to say what they have rea¬son to suppose would occur to the auditor and reader, in consequence of anything said before ; knowing that ;very one is more pleased and more easily led by us when we bring forward his thoughts indirectly and im¬• perceptibly, than when we elbow them and outstrip them with our own."* Mr. De Quineey thus speaks of Burke's composition : "Under his treatment every truth, be it what it may, every thesis of a sentence, grows in the very act of unfolding it. Take any sentence you please from Dr. Johnson, suppose, and it will be found to contain a thought—good or bad—fully preconceived. Where as in Burke, whatever may have been the preconcep¬tion, it receives a new determination or inflection at every clause of the.sentence. Some collateral adjunct of the main proposition, some temperament or re3traint, some oblique glance at its remote affinities, will invari¬ably be found to attend the progress of his sentences —like the spray from a waterfall, or the scintillations from the iron under the blacksmith's hammer. Hence, while a writer of Dr. Johnson's class seems only to look back upon his thoughts, Burke looks forward—and does in fact advance and change his own station con¬currently with the advance of the sentence."* The facts noticed by these critics receive an expla¬nation from our general law. When a sentence is so framed as to render it possible for the mind of the in¬terpreter to outrun the speaker or writer in reacnmg its conclusion, the mental action is not truly interpre¬tive but prophetic. The mind is not occupied with what is said, but with what is to be said. The ease with which this is done leaves a momentary vacuum in the attention, affording opportunity for the intrusion of some side issue which only diverts the mind from the leading topics, and wastes its powers on irrelevant matters. This is the experience of those who listen to sermons chiefly consisting of Scriptural quotations with which they are familiar. Either sleep ensues, or more interesting subjects crowd upon the attention and lead the thoughts astray. Thus the interpreting powers are not sufficiently exercised to bring the ideas fairly before the mind. 2) Collateral Ideas.—The suggestion of collateral ideas is an important element in style. There are many associated ideas which are to be avoided, and many which should be suggested. Consummate skill is necessary in the management of this suggestive prop¬erty of style. Mr. Spencer says on this point : "To select from the sentiment, scene, or event de¬scribed, those typical elements which carry many others along with them ; and so, by saying a few things but suggesting many, to abridge the description; is the secret of producing a vivid impression. An extract from Tennyson's 'Mariana' will illustrate this : All day within the dreamy house, The door upon the hinges creaked, The blue fly sung i' the pane ; the mouse Behind the moldering wainscot shrieked, Or from the crevice peered about. "The several circumstances here specified bring with them many appropriate associations. Our atten¬tion is rarely drawn by the buzzing of the fly in the window, save when every thing is still. While the in¬mates are moving about the house, mice usually keep silence ; and it is only when extreme quietness reigns that they peep from their retreats. Hence each of the facts mentioned, presupposing numerous others, calls up these with more or less distinctness ; and revives the feeling of dull solitude with which they are con¬nected in our experience. Were all these facts detailed instead of suggested, the attention would be so frit¬tered away that little impression would be produced. Similarly in other cases. Whatever the nature of the thought to be conveyed, this is the key to success." • (2) Unity.—The subject of Unity naturally falls under two divisions : (1) Unity of Idea ; and (2) Uni¬ty of Structure. 1) Unity of Idea.—If a sentence express more than one principal idea, simple or complex, unity is violated. It is not meant that any part of a sentence may not be indefinitely expanded ; for, so long as ho . mogeneity is retained, any sentence may be incredibly extended. Hazlitt is said to have written a sentence of one hundred and ten lines, in which unity is not violated. No matter how short the sentence is, as Roon as heterogeneous ideas appear, unity vanishes. In the following short sentence from Ferguson, we have an account of Cato's death, vigor, age, justice, and philanthropy, all in one confused period : "Cato died in the full vigor of life, under fifty ; he was naturally warm and affectionate in his temper, comprehensive and impartial, and strongly possessed with the love of mankind." The principle of unity grows out of the tendency to _contemplate conceptions as individuals. Distinctness of view results from looking at one thing at once, and by itself. Unity of idea in the sentences of a para¬graph is what clearness of outline is in a picture. If the outlines are dim, all the objects in the picture are blended and confused ; so the want of unity in a sen¬tence renders every image indistinct. This indistinct¬ness generally results from one of five causes : (1) changing the subject ; (2) changing the scene ; (3) crowding together things unconnected ; (4) long par¬entheses; and (5) tacking on supplementary clauses. In every such case there is an obvious waste of inter¬preting power. 2) Unity of Struotnre.—In considering sentences with reference to their unity of structure, it is neces¬sary to have a classification of them according to their structure. Classified on this principle, sentences are : (a) those which suspend the sense to the end, or, Peri¬odic; (b) those which give a completed meaning at more than one point, or, Loose; and (c) those whose mem hers are similar in form and contrasted in meaning, 01 Balanced. (a)	The periodic structure holds the attention te the end of the sentence, but, if it be long, requires the suspension of the sense until a part may be lost. While it is conducive to unity of idea, its advantage is relative. It requires an active mind to collect and ar¬range a number of preliminaries, and retain them until the period is closed. "Just as it may cost a strong man less effort to carry a hundred-weight from place to place at once, than by a stone at a time ; so, to an active mind it may be easier to bear along all the qual¬ifications of an idea and at once rightly form it when named, than first imperfectly to conceive such an idea and then carry back to it, one by one, the details and limitations afterward mentioned. While conversely, as for a boy, the only possible mode of transferring a hundred-weight, is that of taking it in portions ; so, for a weak mind, the only possible mode of forming a compound conception may be that of building it up by carrying separately its separate parts."* Hence we infer that the periodic structure is best adapted to short sentences, and to cultivated hearers. (b)	In a language so little inflectional as ours, the loose sentence must be of frequent occurrence. It is less favorable to unity than the periodic, since the ad¬ditions may easily lapse into digressions. The inter¬pretation of a loose sentence affects the mind as the body is affected by the pursuit of game which is every mo¬ment feigning to halt, but still runs on. If the game be worth catching, the chase is interesting, but both provoking and exhausting. (c) The balanced sentence possesses several impor¬tant excellences. It is a kind of ledger-page in mini¬ature, on which the debit and credit are put before the mind at once. Its force is felt in such a series of sen¬tences as this : "The style of Dryden is capricious and varied, that of Pope Is cautious and uniform. Dryden obeys the motions of hi a own will, Pope constrains his mind to his OWD rule of composition. Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid, Pope is always smooth, uniform, and level. Dryden's page is a natural field, rising into inequalities, and diversified by the varied exuberance of abundant vegetation, Pope's is a velvet lawn, shaven by the scythe, and leveled by the roller." Both the memory and the imagination are aided by the balanced structure. The principle of contrast, which will be explained in another place, renders it a means of economizing mental power. The principle of variety, so important in style, allows the moderate use of each form of structure, and an ingenious combination of all displays much higher attainments in art than a slavish devotion to any single model. The principal advantage adorning from the study of sentential structure is, that we may know the peculiar excellences of each form, and be able to apply that knowledge when we wish to make our words as expressive as possible. No writer or speaker can spend a long time upon every sentence, yet, in elaborate pro¬ductions, where care and labor are nothing compared with the result aimed at, these principles will be of practical value.