re to _think_ more clearly. All this just to
illustrate how style and matter are co-existent, and inseparable, and
alike.

You cannot have good matter with bad style. Examine the point more
closely. A man wishes to convey a fine idea to you. He employs a form
of words. That form of words is his style. Having read, you say: "Yes,
this idea is fine." The writer has therefore achieved his end. But in
what imaginable circumstances can you say: "Yes, this idea is fine,
but the style is not fine"? The sole medium of communication between
you and the author has been the form of words. The fine idea has
reached you. How? In the words, by the words. Hence the fineness must
be in the words. You may say, superiorly: "He has expressed himself
clumsily, but I can _see_ what he means." By what light? By something
in the words, in the style. That something is fine. Moreover, if the
style is clumsy, are you sure that you can see what he means? You
cannot be quite sure. And at any rate, you cannot see distinctly.
The "matter" is what actually reaches you, and it must necessarily be
affected by the style.

Still further to comprehend what style is, let me ask you to think
of a writer's style exactly as you would think of the gestures and
manners of an acquaintance. You know the man whose demeanour is
"always calm," but whose passions are strong. How do you know that his
passions are strong? Because he "gives them away" by some small, but
important, part of his demeanour, such as the twitching of a lip or
the whitening of the knuckles caused by clenching the hand. In other
words, his demeanour, fundamentally, is not calm. You know the man
who is always "smoothly polite and agreeable," but who affects you
unpleasantly. Why does he affect you unpleasantly? Because he is
tedious, and therefore disagreeable, and because his politeness is
not real politeness. You know the man who is awkward, shy, clumsy, but
who, nevertheless, impresses you with a sense of dignity and force.
Why? Because mingled with that awkwardness and so forth _is_ dignity.
You know the blunt, rough fellow whom you instinctively guess to be
affectionate--because there is "something in his tone" or "something
in his eyes." In every instance the demeanour, while perhaps seeming
to be contrary to the character, is really in accord with it. The
demeanour never contradicts the character. It is one part of the
character that contradicts another part of the character. For, after