, there is no such thing as good style or bad. Either
a literary utterance is made with style, or else it is made without
it. This initial distinction is absolute, not relative. It must,
however, be admitted that of two utterances made with style, the one
may be more imbued with that quality than is the other; but even this
secondary distinction is a matter of more and less, rather than of
better and worse. Style, then, is a quality possessed in a greater or
less degree, or else not possessed at all. This much being granted,
we may investigate with clearer minds the philosophic aspect of the
subject.

Language makes to the mind of the reader or the listener an appeal
which is twofold. First, it conveys to his intellect a definite
meaning through the content of the words that are employed; and
secondly, it conveys to his sensibilities an indefinite suggestion
through their sound. Consciously, he receives a meaning from the
denotation of the words; subconsciously, he receives a suggestion from
their connotation. Now, an utterance has the quality of style when
these two appeals of language--the denotative and the connotative, the
definite and the indefinite, the intellectual and the sensuous--are so
co-ordinated as to produce upon the reader or the listener an effect
which is, not dual, but indissolubly single. And an utterance is
devoid of the quality of style when, although it conveys a meaning to
the intellect through the content of the words, it does not reinforce
that conveyance of meaning by a cognate and harmonic appeal to the
senses through their sound. In the latter case the language produces
upon the recipient an effect which is, not single, but dual and
divorced.

The matter may be made more clear by the examination of concrete
examples. The following sentence, for instance, is devoid of style:
"The square on the hypothenuse of a right-angled triangle is equal to
the sum of the squares on the other two sides": for, although by its
content it conveys to the intellect a meaning which is entirely clear
and absolutely definite, it does not by its sound convey to the senses
a suggestion which is cognate. But, on the other hand, the following
lines from Tennyson's "The Princess" are rich in style, because the
appeals to the intellect and to the ear are so co-ordinated as to
produce a single simultaneous effect:--

"Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn,
The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
And murmur