neither the subject nor the language. But it is often the
case that one has to be sacrificed to the other. The pregnant writer
will sometimes solace himself by declaring that it is not his business
to supply intelligence to the reader; and then, in throwing out the
entirety of his thought, will not stop to remember that he cannot hope
to scatter his ideas far and wide unless he can make them easily
intelligible. Then the writer who is determined that his book shall not
be put down because it is troublesome, is too apt to avoid the knotty
bits and shirk the rocky turns, because he cannot with ease to himself
make them easy to others. If this be acknowledged, I shall be held to be
right in saying not only that ease and lucidity in style are different
virtues, but that they are often opposed to each other. They may,
however, be combined, and then the writer will have really learned the
art of writing. Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci. It is to be
done, I believe, in all languages. A man by art and practice shall at
least obtain such a masterhood over words as to express all that he
thinks, in phrases that shall be easily understood.

In such a small space as can here be allowed, I cannot give instances to
prove that this has been achieved by Thackeray. Nor would instances
prove the existence of the virtue, though instances might the absence.
The proof lies in the work of the man's life, and can only become plain
to those who have read his writings. I must refer readers to their own
experiences, and ask them whether they have found themselves compelled
to study passages in Thackeray in order that they might find a recondite
meaning, or whether they have not been sure that they and the author
have together understood all that there was to understand in the matter.
Have they run backward over the passages, and then gone on, not quite
sure what the author has meant? If not, then he has been easy and lucid.
We have not had it so easy with all modern writers, nor with all that
are old. I may best perhaps explain my meaning by taking something
written long ago; something very valuable, in order that I may not
damage my argument by comparing the easiness of Thackeray with the
harshness of some author who has in other respects failed of obtaining
approbation. If you take the play of _Cymbeline_ you will, I think, find
it to be anything but easy reading. Nor is Shakespeare always lucid. For
purposes of his own he will somet