qualified sense, be perspicuous, while yet he is far from being precise. He uses proper words and proper arrangements; he gives you the idea as clear as he conceives it himself, and so far he is perspicuous but the ideas are not very clear in his own mind; they are loose and general, and therefore cannot be expressed with precision. All subjects do not equally require precision. It is sufficient, on many occasions, that we have a general view of the meaning. The subject, perhaps, is of the known and familiar kind; and we are in no hazard of mistaking the sense of the author, though every word which he uses be not precise and exact. Few authors, for instance, in the English language, are more clear and perspicuous, on the whole, than Archbishop Tillotson and Sir William Temple; yet neither of them are remarkable for precision."

The fact is, that if the words are taken in their ordinary senses, precision is not a mode of perspicuity, but a quality in some measure antagonistic to perspicuity. Blair might have drawn a line between perspicuity and precision, and made them two separate intellectual qualities. The division would not have been the best, but it would have been a real division, and better than none at all. Aristotle's single virtue of "clearness" or "perspicuity" needs to be analysed before we can characterise authors with discrimination. We need two broad divisions, simplicity and clearness, and a subdivision of clearness into general clearness and minute clearness. This more exact division I shall briefly explain it is not arbitrary dictatorial sequestration of terms to unfamiliar applications, but a breaking up of such sequestrations, and a reconciliation of the language of criticism with the language of familiar speech.

When designations of merit are loose and indeterminate, they may sometimes be cleared up by a reference to designations of demerit. It is so in this case. What are the faults of style as a means of communicating knowledge? We at once say abstruseness and confusion. Returning, then, to the positive side, we ask ourselves what are the corresponding merits-what are the opposites of abstruseness and confusion-and we have no difficulty in seeing that the main intellectual "virtues" of style are simplicity and clearness.

Simplicity and abstruseness are relative terms. Whatever is hard to understand is not simple, is abstruse, recondite; and what is hard for one man may be easy for another. The phraseology of natural science or of medicine is hard to the unlearned reader, but easy as a primer to the naturalist or the physician. Abstract terms are generally unpopular, and generally disliked as dry, bookish, scholastic; yet they are said to come to Scotchmen more naturally than the concrete language of common things. Want of simplicity is not an absolute fault; it is a fault only in relation to the persons addressed. A writer addressing himself purposely to a

learned audience only wastes his strength by beating about the bush for language universally familiar.

Clearness, as opposed to confusion, is not so much relative to the capacity of the persons addressed. Ambiguous languagewords so arranged as to convey an impression different from what the writer intends, may mislead learned and unlearned alike. Confused expression is not justifiable under any circumstances, unless, indeed, it is the writer's deliberate purpose to mislead. The educated reader will guess the meaning sooner than the uneducated; but neither educated nor uneducated should be burdened with the effort of guessing.

To

Clearness, as we have said, may conveniently be subdivided into general clearness and minute clearness-minute clearness being expressed by such words as distinctness, exactness, precision. There is a marked line of separation between these subdivisions. Accuracy in the general outlines is a different thing from accuracy in the details. In truth, the two are somewhat antagonistic. dwell with minute precision on the details tends rather to confuse our impressions as to the general outlines. After our attention has been turned to minute distinctions, we find it difficult to grasp the mutual relations of the parts so distinguished when we endeavour to conceive them as a whole. Again, minute distinctness is opposed to simplicity. The general outlines of things can be conveyed in familiar language; but when we desire to be exact, we must have recourse to terms that are technical and unfamiliar. To say that the earth is "round" is a sufficiently clear description of the form of the earth in a general way—and the word is familiar to everybody; but when we are more exact, and describe the earth as sphere flattened at the poles," we remove ourselves from the easy comprehension of many of our countrymen.

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We are now in a better position to discuss the critical and popular use of the word perspicuity. It is evident, from Campbell's account of the faults against perspicuity, that he understands by the term a certain amount of clearness combined with simplicity. He includes in his list of offences not only confusion of thought, ambiguity-using the same word in different senses-and uncertain reference in pronouns and relatives, which are offences against clearness, but also technical terms and long sentences, which are offences against simplicity. This is also the popular use of the term. Such writers as Addison and Macaulay are said to be perspicuous, because they are at once simple or easily understood, and free from obvious confusion. Their ideas are expressed in popular language, and sufficiently discriminated for popular apprehension. Popularly, therefore, as well as in some rhetorical treatises, perspicuity stands for a clear, unambiguous, unconfused structure of simple language. But why should the term be confined to a clear

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structure of simple language? We can easily see how it came to be so confined. A general reader does not receive clear impressions from a work couched in abstruse language, however perspicuous may be the arrangement. The effort of realising the words is too much, and he lets them slip through his mind vaguely. For him an abstruse style cannot be perspicuous-simplicity is indispensable to perspicuity. But while we see how the word came to be so confined, we cannot see why it should be kept so confined. Johnson's arrangement is clearer and more free from ambiguity than Addison's or Tillotson's. Why should he not be called a perspicuous writer?

But some of our readers will say that Johnson is called a perspicuous writer. This is true, but he is not so by Campbell's definition, for he uses technical terms and long sentences; nor is he so by the verdict of those that are loosely called general readers. He is called perspicuous because his words are apt to his meaning, and because the general structure of his discourses is clear. language is not simple; he is not perspicuous if simplicity be considered a part of perspicuity.

His

Here, therefore, seems to arise a clash between the general reader and the reader more familiar with abstract and learned phraseology. But the disagreement is more apparent than real. The general reader applies the term perspicuous to a clear choice and construction of simple language, of language familiar to him ; the more learned reader applies the term to a clear choice and structure of language, abstruse perhaps to the generality, but still familiar to him. In point of fact, the two classes of readers use the word perspicuous with the same meaning. Both have in view, not the familiarity of the language or the structure, but the clearness of it, its freedom from ambiguity and confusion. The intellectual qualities of such writers as Tillotson, Locke, Addison, Macaulay, are not fully distinguished by the single word perspicuous— the style of such writers is perspicuous and simple. Johnson and De Quincey are also perspicuous in their choice of words, and in their general structure; but their diction, as a whole, is abstruse.

We said a little ago that clearness might be subdivided into general clearness and minute clearness. At that time we mentioned no single word for general clearness. In our consideration of the word perspicuity, we have seen that, when hunted down to its real signification, it proves to be the very word required. Perspicuity, or lucidity, will thus stand for general clearness, unambiguous, unconfused structure-what may loosely be called general accuracy of outline. For minute accuracy, careful discrimination

of terms demanding from the reader an effort to make sure that his ideas are not vague, but rigidly defined-we have the terms precision, exactness, and distinctness.

perspicuous; but, as we have When a writer is scrupulously

A distinct, exact writer may be said, he runs a risk of not being so. anxious that his readers understand every detail exactly as he conceives it, there is a danger that he put too severe a strain upon them, and confuse their comprehension of the general aspect of his theme. De Quincey is an example of a writer at once exact and perspicuous; and the secret is, that he is aware of his danger, and frequently presses upon his reader a general view of what he is doing.

When

Precision and simplicity are in a measure antagonistic. Socrates began to cross-examine the people of Athens, he found that they could not define the meaning of words that they were using every day. They used language in a loose way for purposes of social intercourse, and did not trouble themselves to be rigidly exact. The case is not much altered among us. A very exact writer cannot but be abstruse to the generality.

EMOTIONAL QUALITIES OF STYLE-STRENGTH,

PATHOS, THE LUDICROUS.

The emotional qualities of style are not so difficult to distinguish as the intellectual qualities. Had Campbell not been needlessly anxious to isolate the style from the subject-matter, he would never have thought of huddling together all the emotional qualities under the name of vivacity.1 There are three broadly distinguished emotional qualities-strength, pathos, and the ludierous; and each of these is a general name for distinct varieties.

Under the general name of Strength are embraced such varieties as animation, vivacity, liveliness, rapidity, brilliancy; nerve, vigour, force, energy, fervour; dignity, stateliness, splendour, grandeur, magnificence, loftiness, sublimity.

Between the extremes in the list-animation and sublimitythere is a wide difference; yet sublimity is more appropriately classed with animation than with any mode of pathos. So with rapidity and dignity. The contrast between strength and pathos is as the contrast between motion and rest. The effect of a calm, sustained motion is nearer to the effect of absolute repose than it is to the effect of a restless, rapid, abrupt motion; yet the calm, sustained motion is considered as a state of motion, and not as a state of rest. In like manner, an overpowering sense of sublimity approaches nearer to a sense of depression and melancholy than it does to animation or vivacity; yet it is essentially a mode of strength, and not a mode of pathos.

1 Longinus's celebrated treatise repì vчovs, mistranslated "On the Sublime" through the Latin De Sublimitate, falls into the same excess of abstraction. Hypsos, according to De Quincey, means everything tending to elevate composition above commonplace.

In the above list I have attempted some kind of subordinate division, throwing together the terms that seem more nearly synonymous. It would not be possible to define them exactly without incurring the charge of making one's own feelings the standard for all men. The terms are used with considerable latitude, partly because few people take the trouble to weigh their words, but partly also because different men have different ideals of animation, different ideals of energy, different ideals of sublimity. All can understand, upon due reflection, the common bond between these qualities their common difference from the qualities comprehended under pathos; but no amount of explanation can give two men of different character the same ideas of animation, energy, dignity, or sublimity. The utmost that explanation can do is to disabuse their minds of the idea that the one is wrong and the other right, and to persuade them that they are simply at variance. At the same time, the application of the terms is not absolutely chaotic. Take the universal suffrage, and you find a considerable body of substantial agreement between the loose borders.

One great cause of the licentious abuse of these terms is the desire of admirers to credit their favourites with every excellence of style. Could we subtract all the abuses committed under this impulse, we should find the popular applications of terms very much at one. All agree in describing Macaulay as animated, rapid, and brilliant. There is not so much unanimity in accrediting him with dignity-at least with dignity of the highest degree; and he is seldom credited with sublimity. Readers would probably be no less unanimous in calling Jeremy Taylor fervid, Dryden energetic, Temple dignified, Defoe nervous, Johnson vigorous, Burke splendid, and De Quincey's "prose fantasies" sublime.

Perhaps none of the above words are so shifting in their application as the word sublimity. In an account of De Quincey's character I have tried to distinguish two opposite modes of sublimity. No critical term is more in need of definition. De Quincey denies it of Homer, and ascribes it in the highest degree to Milton, seeming to understand by it the exhibiting of vast power to adoring contemplation.

Pathos is contrasted with the sentiment of power, and is said to be "allied to inaction, repose, and the passive side of our nature." According to this definition, whatever excites or agitates is not pathetic.

This distinction, like every attempt at analysis of mental states, is open to endless dispute. It will be almost unanimously allowed as regards tender feelings awakened by the representation of "objects of special affection, displays of active goodness, humane sentiments, and gentle pleasures.' But it may stagger many as