ead so widely. But,
naturally, when men regarded the grace of style as mere grace of
manner, and not as the delicate precision giving form and relief to
matter--as mere ornament, stuck on to arrest incurious eyes, and not as
effective expression--their sense of the deeper value of matter made
them despise such aid. A clearer conception would have rectified this
error. The matter is confluent with the manner; and only THROUGH the
style can thought reach the reader's mind. If the manner is involved,
awkward, abrupt, obscure, the reader will either be oppressed with a
confused sense of cumbrous material which awaits an artist to give it
shape, or he will have the labour thrown upon him of extricating the
material and reshaping it in his own mind.

How entirely men misconceive the relation of style to thought may be
seen in the replies they make when their writing is objected to, or in
the ludicrous attempts of clumsy playfulness and tawdry eloquence when
they wish to be regarded as writers.

"Le style le moins noble a pourtant sa noblesse,"

and the principle of Sincerity, not less than the suggestions of taste,
will preserve the integrity of each style. A philosopher, an
investigator, an historian, or a moralist so far from being required to
present the graces of a wit, an essayist, a pamphleteer, or a novelist,
would be warned off such ground by the necessity of expressing himself
sincerely. Pascal, Biot, Buffon, or Laplace are examples of the
clearness and beauty with which ideas may be presented wearing all the
graces of fine literature, and losing none of the severity of science.
Bacon, also, having an opulent and active intellect, spontaneously
expressed himself in forms of various excellence. But what a pitiable
contrast is presented by Kant! It is true that Kant having a much
narrower range of sensibility could have no such ample resource of
expression, and he was wise in not attempting to rival the splendour of
the NOVUM ORGANUM; but he was not simply unwise, he was extremely
culpable in sending forth his thoughts as so much raw material which
the public was invited to put into shape as it could. Had he been aware
that much of his bad writing was imperfect thinking, and always
imperfect adaptation of means to ends, he might have been induced to
recast it into more logical and more intelligible sentences, which
would have stimulated the reader's mind as much as they now oppress it.
Nor had Kant the excuse of a s