ay be claimed with equal justice by
both. The laws of force and the laws of pleasure can only be
provisionally isolated in our inquiry; in style they are blended. The
following brief estimate of each considers it as an isolated principle
undetermined by any other.

1. THE LAW OF ECONOMY.

Our inquiry is scientific, not empirical; it therefore seeks the
psychological basis for every law, endeavouring to ascertain what
condition of a reader's receptivity determines the law. Fortunately for
us, in the case of the first and most important law the psychological
basis is extremely simple, and may be easily appreciated by a reference
to its analogue in Mechanics.

What is the first object of a machine? Effective work--VIS VIVA. Every
means by which friction can be reduced, and the force thus economised
be rendered available, necessarily solicits the constructor's care. He
seeks as far as possible to liberate the motion which is absorbed in
the working of the machine, and to use it as VIS VIVA. He knows that
every superfluous detail, every retarding influence, is at the cost of
so much power, and is a mechanical defect though it may perhaps be an
aesthetic beauty or a practical convenience. He may retain it because
of the beauty, because of the convenience, but he knows the price of
effective power at which it is obtained.

And thus it stands with Style. The first object of a writer is
effective expression, the power of communicating distinct thoughts and
emotional suggestions. He has to overcome the friction of ignorance and
pre-occupation. He has to arrest a wandering attention, and to clear
away the misconceptions which cling around verbal symbols. Words are
not llke iron and wood, coal and water, invariable in their properties,
calculable in their effects. They are mutable in their powers, deriving
force and subtle variations of force from very trifling changes of
position; colouring and coloured by the words which precede and
succeed; significant or insignificant from the powers of rhythm and
cadence. It is the writer's art so to arrange words that they shall
suffer the least possible retardation from the inevitable friction of
the reader's mind. The analogy of a machine is perfect. In both cases
the object is to secure the maximum of disposable force, by diminishing
the amount absorbed in the working. Obviously, if a reader is engaged
in extricating the meaning from a sentence which ought to have
reflected its meanin