ding it; but if it be put at
the end of the sentence is urged upon the reader's sense and
imprinted on his mind.

That seems obvious enough, for English use as well as for Latin. 'The
wages of sin is Death'--anyone can see how much more emphatic that is
than 'Death is the wages of sin.' But let your minds work on this matter
of emphasis, and discover how emphasis has always its right point
somewhere, though it be not at all necessarily at the end of the
sentence. Take a sentence in which the strong words actually repeat
themselves for emphasis:--

Babylon is fallen, is fallen, that great city.

Our first impulse would be to place the emphasis at the end:--

Babylon, that great city, is fallen, is fallen.

The Latin puts it at the beginning:--

Cecidit, cecidit, Babylonia illa magna.
Fallen, fallen, is Babylon, that great city.

The forty-seven preserved the 'falling close' so exquisite in the Latin;
the emphasis, already secured by repetition, they accentuated by
lengthening the pause. I would urge on you that in every sentence there
is just a right point of emphasis which you must train your ears to
detect. So your writing will acquire not only emphasis, but balance, and
you will instinctively avoid such an ill-emphasised sentence as this,
which, not naming the author, I will quote for your delectation:--

'Are Japanese Aprils always as lovely as this?' asked the man in the
light tweed suit of two others in immaculate flannels with crimson
sashes round their waists and puggarees folded in cunning plaits
round their broad Terai hats.

Explore, next, what (though critics have strangely neglected it) to my
mind stands the first, or almost the first, secret of beautiful writing
in English, whether in prose or in verse; I mean that inter-play of
vowel-sounds in which no language can match us. We have so many vowel
sounds indeed, and so few vowels to express them, that the foreigner,
mistaking our modesty, complains against God's plenty. We alone, for
example, sound by a natural vowel that noble _I_, which other nations can
only compass by diphthongs. Let us consider that vowel for a moment or
two and mark how it leads off the dance of the Graces, its sisters:--

Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the
Lord is risen upon thee.

Mark how expressively it drops to the solemn vowel 'O,' and
anon how expressively it reasserts itself to express rearisen
deli