the content, or denotation, of the
words. For instance, the word "innumerable," which denotes to the
intellect merely "incapable of being numbered," is in this connection
made to suggest to the senses the murmuring of bees. That one word,
therefore, accomplishes a dual service, and contributes to the
expression of the general idea in one way through its content and in
another through its sound.

=Onomatopoetic Words.=--This cooerdination of the two appeals is the
origin and the essence of the quality of style. But the question now
demands to be considered,--_how_ may this cooerdination be effected?
The first detail we must attend to is the choice of words. Tennyson's
task, in the lines that we have just considered, was comparatively
easy. He was writing about certain sounds; and it was not especially
difficult for him to imitate those sounds with the words that he
selected to denote them. His device was the obvious one which is
called, by rhetoricians, onomatopoeia. In every language those words
which are denotative of sounds are nearly always also imitative of
them. Such words, as, for example, "whisper," "thunder," "rattle," are
in themselves stylistic. Alone, and apart from any context, they
incorporate that cognate appeal of significance and sound which is the
secret of style. Thus far the matter is extremely simple. But there
are also many words which denote other things than sounds and yet
somehow convey subtly to the ear a sensuous suggestion of their
content. Such words, for instance, are "mud," "nevermore," and
"tremulous." Any child could tell you that words like these "sound
just like what they mean"; and yet it would be impossible for the
critical intellect to explain exactly wherein lies the fitness between
sound and sense in such a word as "mud." The fitness, however, is
obviously there. If we select from several languages words which are
identical in denotation, we are likely to find that, because of their
difference in sound, they connote different phases of the idea which
they contain. For example, the English word "death" has a spiritual
sound; whereas the German "_der Tod_" sounds horrible and grim, and
the French "_la mort_" sounds fearsome and bizarre. In content, these
three words are indistinguishable; but in style they differ very
widely. Their diversity of connotation is obviously inherent in their
sound; and yet, though the difference may be heard at once, it seems
inexplicable by the intelle