COMPARISON, in a general sense, the consideration of the relation between two persons or things, when opposed to each other, by which we are enabled to judge of their agreement or difference.

Comparison of Ideas, an act of the mind, by which it compares its ideas one with another, in respect of extent, degree, time, place, or any other circumstances.

Comparison, in Grammar, the inflection of the comparative degree.

Comparison, in Rhetoric, is a figure by which two things arc considered with regard to a third, that is common to both.

Instruction is the principal, but not the only end of comparison. It may be employed with success in putting a subject in a strong point of view. A lively idea is formed of a man’s courage by likening it to that of a lion; and eloquence is exalted in our imagination by comparing it to a river which overflows its banks, involving all in its impetuous course. The same effect is produced by contrast. A man in prosperity becomes more sensible of his happiness, by comparing his condition with that of a person in want of bread. Thus comparison is subservient to poetry as well as to philosophy.

Comparisons serve two purposes: when addressed to the understanding, their purpose is to instruct; when to the heart, their purpose is to please. The means which contribute to the latter are various, as, first, the suggesting of some unusual resemblance or contrast; secondly, the setting of an object in the strongest light; thirdly, the associating of an object with others which are agreeable; fourthly, the elevating of an object; and, lastly, the depressing of it. And that comparisons may thus afford pleasure, will be made evident by examples, after premising some general observations.

Objects of different senses cannot properly be compared together; for such objects are totally separated from one another, and have no circumstance in common to admit either resemblance or contrast. Objects of hearing may be compared together, as also of taste, of smell, and of touch; but the chief fund of comparison consists of objects of sι ght; because, in writing or speaking, things can only be compared in idea, and the ideas of sight are more distinct and lively than those of any other sense.

It has no good effect to compare things by way of simile that are of the same kind, nor to contrast things of different kinds. The following is a comparison built upon a resemblance so obvious as to make little or no impression. Speaking of the fallen angels searching for mines of gold, Milton says,

A numerous brigade hasten’d: as when bands of pioneers, with spade and pickaxe arm’d, Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field Or cast a rampart.

In the following passage, again, we have things contrasted which are of different kinds.

Queen. What! is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform’d and weak? Hath Bolingbroke depos’d Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart?

The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,

And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be o’erpower’d: and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod, And fawn on rage with base humility?

This comparison has scarcely any force. Aman and a lion are of different species, and therefore are proper subjects for a simile; but there is no such resemblance between them in general as to produce any strong effect by contrasting particular attributes or circumstances.

A third general observation is, that abstract terms can never be the subject of comparison, otherwise than by being personified. Shakspeare compares adversity to a toad, and slander to the bite of a crocodile; but in such comparisons these abstract terms must be imagined to be impersonations, not entities.

To have a just notion of comparisons, they must be distinguished into two kinds; one common and familiar, as where a man is compared to a lion in courage, or to a horse in speed; and another more distant and refined, as where two things which have in themselves no resemblance or opposition, are compared with respect to their effects. Thus there is no resemblance between a flowerpot and a cheerful song; and yet they may be compared with respect to their effects, because the emotions they produce in the mind are felt or imagined to be similar.

We now proceed to illustrate, by particular instances, the different means by which comparisons, whether of the one sort or the other, can afford pleasure; and, in the order above established, we shall begin with such instances as are agreeable, by suggesting some unusual resemblance or contrast. Thus:

Sweet are the uses of Adversity,

Which, like the toad ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in her head.

Again:

See how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun;

How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm’d like a younker prancing to his love.

Once more:

Thus they their doubtful consultations dark

Ended, rejoicing in their matchless chief:

As when from mountain tops, the dusky clouds Ascending, while the north wind sleeps, o’erspread Heaven’s cheerful face, the lowering element Scowls o’er the darken’d landscape, snow, and shower; If chance the radiant sun with farewell sweet Extends his ev’ning beam, the fields revive, The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings.

None of the foregoing similes tends to illustrate the principal subject, and therefore the chief pleasure they afford must arise from suggesting resemblances which are not obvious; for undoubtedly a beautiful subject introduced to form the simile affords a separate pleasure, which is felt [7:7:186]in the similes mentioned, particularly in that cited from Milton.

Following the order above mentioned, the next effect of a comparison is to place an object in a strong point of view; which effect is remarkable in the following examples:

As when two scales are charg’d with doubtful loads,

From side to side the trembling balance nods (While some laborious matron, just and poor, With nice exactness weighs her woolly store), . Till pois’d aloft, the resting beam suspends Each equal weight, nor this nor that descends; So stood the war, till Hector’s matchless might, With fates prevailing, turn’d the scale of fight. Fierce as a whirlwind up the wall he flies, And fires his host with loud repeated cries.

Again:

O thou goodness,

Thou divine nature! how thyself thou blazon’st

In these two princely boys! they are as gentle

As zephyrs blowing below the violet,

Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough (Their royal blood inchaf’d) as the rudest wind, That by the top doth take the mountain-pine, xXnd make him stoop to the vale.

As words convey but a faint and obscure notion of great numbers, a poet, to give a lively notion of the object be describes, with regard to number, does well to compare it to what is familiar and commonly known. Thus Homer, in one passage, compares the Grecian army in point ofnum-ber to a swarm of bees; and in another to that profusion of leaves and flowers which appear in the spring, or of insects in a summer’s evening. Thus also Milton,

As when the potent rod

Of Amram’s son in Egypt’s evil day

Wav’d round the coast, up call’d a pitchy cloud

Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind,

'L'hat o’er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung Like night, and darken’d all the land of Nile; So numberless were those bad angels seen, liov’ring on wing under the cope of hell, ’ Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires.

Comparisons like these have, by some writers, been condemned for the lowness of the images introduced, but without reason; for, in regard to number, they place the principal subject in a strong light.

The foregoing comparisons operate by resemblance; others have the same effect by contrast. Thus:

F<w7r. I am the last of noble Edward’s sons,

Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first.

In war was never lion rag’d more fierce,

In peace was never gentle iamb more mild, Thau was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so look’d he, Accomplish’d with the number of thy hours; But when he frown’d, it was against the French, And not against his friends. Elis noble hand Did win what he did spend; and spent not that Which his triumphant father’s hand had won. His hands were guilty of no kindred’s blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. Oh, Richard, York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between.

Milton has a peculiar talent for embellishing the principal subject by associating it with others that are agreeable; which is the third end of a comparison. Similes of this kind have besides another effect: they diversify the narration by new images which are not strictly necessary to the comparison, and are short episodes, which, without drawing us from the principal subject, afford great delight by their beauty and variety. Thus, in Milton:

He scarce had ceas’d, when the superior fiend Was moving toward the shore; his pond’rous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast: the broad circumference

Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb

Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views

At evening from the top of Fesole,

Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands,

Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.

Next, with regard to comparisons which aggrandise or elevate, these affect us more than any other species of similes, as will be evident from the following instances:

As when a flame the winding valley fills,

And runs on crackling shrubs between the hills, Then o’er the stubble up the mountain flies, Fires the high woods, and blazes to the skies, This way and that the spreading torrent roars; So sweeps the hero through the wasted shores. Around him wide, immense destruction pours, And earth is deluged with the sanguine show’rs.

Methinks King Richard and myself should meet With no less terror than the elements

Qf fire and water, when their thund’ring shock, At meeting, tears the cloudy , cheeks of heaven.

The last article mentioned is that of lessening or depressing a hated or disagreeable object; which is effectually done by comparing it to any thing low or despicable. Thus Milton, in his description of the route of the rebel angels, happily expresses their terror and dismay in the following simile:

Asa herd

Of goats or timorous flock together throng’d, Drove them before him thunder-struck, pursu’d With terrors and with furies to the bounds And crystal wall of heav’n, which op’ning wide, Roll’d inward, and a spacious gap disclos’d Into the wasteful deep; the monstrous sight Struck them with horror backward, but far ¼ ’ orse Urg’d them behind; headlong themselves they threw Down from the verge of heav’n.

The different purposes of comparison, and the various impressions it makes on the mind, may easily be understood from these familiar examples. But it is more difficult to lay down rules concerning the propriety or impropriety of comparisons; in what circumstances they may be introduced, and in what circumstances they are out of place. It is evident that a comparison is not proper upon every occasion: a man in his cool and sedate moments is not disposed to poetical flights, nor to sacrifice truth and reality to the delusive phantasies of the imagination; far less is he so disposed when oppressed with care, or interested in some important transaction which occupies his whole mind. On the other hand, it is observed, that a person, when elevated or animated by any passion, is disposed to elevate or animate all his subjects; he avoids familiar names, exalts objects by circumlocution and metaphor, and gives even life and voluntary action to inanimate beings. In this ardour of mind, the highest poetical flights are indulged in, and the boldest similes and metaphors relished. But without soaring so high, the mind is frequently in a tone to relish chaste and moderate ornament; such as comparisons which place the principal object in a strong point of view, or embellish and diversify the narration. In general, when by any animating passion, whether pleasant or painful, an impulse is given to the imagination, we are in that condition which predisposes to every sort of figurative expression, and in particular to comparisons. This is in a great measure evident from the comparisons already mentioned, and shall be further illustrated by other instances. Love, for example, in its infancy, rousing the imagination, prompts the heart to display itself in figurative language, and in similes. Thus:

Tro'ílus. Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne’s love,

What Cressida is, what Pandar, and what we?
[7:7:187]

Her bed is India—there she lies a pearl; Between our Ilium and where she resides, Let it be call’d the wild and wand’ring flood; Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

Again:

Come, gentle night; come, loving black-brow’d night!

Give me my Borneo: and when he shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heav’n so fine

That all the world shall be in love with night,

And pay no worship to the garish sun.

But it will better illustrate the present head, if we give examples where comparisons are improperly introduced. Similes are not the language of a man in his ordinary state of mind, dispatching his daily and usual work; for which reason the following speech of a gardener to his servant is extremely improper:

Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricos,

Which, like unruly children, make their sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight: Give some supportances to the bending twigs. Go thou, and, like an executioner, Cut off the heads of two fast growing sprays, That look too lofty in our commonwealth All must be even in our government.

Rooted grief, deep anguish, terror, remorse, despair, and all the severe dispiriting passions, are declared enemies, perhaps not to figurative language in general, but undoubtedly, to the pomp and solemnity of comparison. Upon this account the simile pronounced by young Rutland, under terror of death from an inveterate enemy, and praying for mercy, is unnatural:

So looks the pent-up lion o’er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And so he walks insulting o’er his prey, And so he conies to rend his limbs asunder. Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threat’ning look.

A man exhausted and dispirited after losing a battle is not disposed to heighten or illustrate his discourse by similes.

York. With this we charg’d again; but out! alas,

We bodg’d again; as I have seen a swan

With bootless labour swim against the tide,

And spend her strength with over-matching waves.

Ah! hark, the fatal followers do pursue,

And I am faint and cannot fly their fury.

The sands are number’d that make up my life;

Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

Similes thus unseasonably introduced are finely ridiculed in the Rehearsal. Bayes. Now here she must make a simile.

Smith. Where’s the necessity of that, Mr Bayes?

Bayes. Because she’s surprised; that’s a general rule. You must ever make a simile when you are surprised; ’ tis a new way of writing.

A comparison is not always faultless, even where it is properly introduced; for, like other human productions, it may fall short of its end. Of this defect instances are not rare even among good writers; and to complete the present subject, it will be necessary to make some observations upon such faulty comparisons. Nothing can be more erroneous than to institute a comparison too faintly; a distant resemblance or contrast fatigues the mind with its obscurity, instead of amusing it, and tends not to fulfil any one end of a comparison. The following similes seem to labour under this defect:

K. Rich. . Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown.

Here on this side, my hand; on that side, thine.

Now is this golden crown like a deep well,

I hat ow es two buckets, filling one another;

The emptier ever dancing in the air,

The other down, unseen, and full of water;

That bucket down, and full of tears, am I,

Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. ι

Ií. John. Oh! cousin, thou art come to set mine eye;

The tackle of my licart is crack’d and burnt;

And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail,

Are turned to one thread, one little hair:

My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered.

York. Aly uncles both are slain in rescuing me:

And all my followers to the eager foe

Turn back, and fiy like ships before the wind,

Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.

The last of these two similes is good; the first, because of the faintness of the resemblance, produces no effect, and crowds the narration with an useless image.

In an epic poem, or in any elevated subject, a writer ought to avoid raising a simile upon a low image, which never fails to lower the principal subject. In general, it is a rule, that a grand object ought never to be resembled to one that is diminutive, however delicate the resemblance may be; for it is the peculiar character of a grand object to fix the attention and swell the mind; in which state, it is disagreeable to contract the mind to a minute object, however elegant. The comparing an object to one that is greater, has, on the contrary, a good effect, by raising or exalting the mind; for one passes with satisfaction from a small to a great object, but cannot be drawn down, without reluctance, from great to small. Hence the following similes are faulty:

Meanwhile the troops beneath Patroclus’ care Invade-the Trojans, and commence the war. As wasps, provok’d by children in their play, Pour from their mansions by the broad highway, In swarms the guiltless traveller engage, Whet all their stings, and call forth all their rage; All rise in arms, and with a general cry Assert their waxen domes and buzzing progeny: Thus from their tents the fervent legion swarms, So loud their clamours, and so keen their arms.

So burns the vengeful hornet (soul all o’er), Repulsed in vain, and thirsty still of gore; (Bold son of air and heat) on angry wings Untamed, untired, he turns, attacks, and stings. Fired with like ardour, fierce Atrides fiew, And sent his soul with every lance he threw.

An error opposite to the former is the introducing of a resembling image, so elevated or great as to bear no proportion to the principal subject. The remarkable disparity of the things compared being the most striking circumstance, seizes the mind, and never fails to depress the principal subject by contrast, instead of raising it by resemblance. And if the disparity be exceedingly great, the simile assumes an air of burlesque; nothing being more ridiculous than to force an object out of its proper rank in nature, by assimilating it to one greatly superior or greatly inferior. This will be evident from the following comparison :—

Loud as a bull makes hill and valley ring,

So roar’d the lock, when it released the spring.

Such a simile regarding the simplest of all acts, that of opening a lock, is absurd from its inaptitude, and burlesque from its extravagant disproportion.