hoped, the most polysyllabic of British scribblers will find out that for him Defoe and Fielding are better models than Johnson or Gibbon. The great truth will dawn upon him, that few men can write forty words unbroken by a semicolon, without making slips in grammar. He will think twice before he uses Latin words, such as ovation, in a sense that makes scholars writhe. He will never discard a Teutonic word without good reason; and if he cannot find one of these fit for his purpose, he will prefer a French or Latin word, naturalized before 1740, to any later comer. Fox had some show of right on his side, when he refused to embody in his History any word not to be found in Dryden; though the great Whig might surely have borne with phrases used by Swift and Bolingbroke.
I now give three sentences, which will bring three different forms of what is called English into the most glaring contrast; each contains more than twenty nouns and verbs.
I. Stung by the foe's twitting, our forefathers (bold wights!) drew nigh their trusty friends, and were heartily welcomed; taught by a former mishap, they began the fight on that spot, and showed themselves unaffrighted by threatening forebodings of woe.
II. Provoked by the enemy's abuse, our ancestors (brave creatures!) approached their faithful allies, and were nobly received; instructed by a previous misfortune, they commenced the battle in that place, and proved themselves undismayed by menacing predictions of misery.
III. Exacerbated by the antagonist's vituperation, our
