ose to show that the
style of the one is the style of the other.

Style, by most authors, is treated under the following heads:
_Perspicuity_, _Vivacity_, and _Beauty_. Perspicuity, I define, the
clear and true expression of our thoughts in the fewest words. Vivacity
is the energy or life of expression; it attracts the attention, and
excites the imagination. It takes the will by storm and produces
conviction. Combined with perspicuity it becomes eloquence. Beauty is
the harmony and smoothness of of expression, and is often made
synonymous with _elegance_.

The first requisite in style is perspicuity. It is a prevalent notion
among the vulgar that clearness of expression leads to dryness and
dullness in speaking or writing, owing to the plain garb in which ideas
are clothed. But the fact is, the very reverse of this is true, and as
the legitimate result.

Words are said to be the signs of ideas, or symbols of thought. But
words _spoken_ is thought passing in the air; they are ideas in
invisible vibrations, and a sound can neither be a sign nor a symbol.
But words written are symbols of thought. Language addresses both the
ear and the eye. The true end and aim of language is to make others feel
the full force of an idea as it is felt by the speaker. Language must
therefore be forever imperfect, and this from the nature of things, or
at least till ideas can be silently conveyed upon the waves of some
subtle nerve force. Ideas flit from the mind with the rapidity of
lightning. To the inward beholder truth becomes visible at times
instantaneously. He sees it, he feels it; it fills him with emotions; it
struggles for utterance. Truth writhes to get free and become
universally, instead of particularly, known and felt. It may be and is
felt instantaneously, yet it can not be expressed in words for hours,
and perhaps never: certainly never as it should be. Truth rests in the
mind, or flutters there in ideal beauty. It requires an artist
transcending earthly perfection to breathe it to the ear or throw it out
to the eye on canvas. The tongue and hand both fail, the sounds are
discordant, and the lines are broken. In the one instance we have a
jumble of sounds, and in the other a daub for a picture.

It becomes apparent at once, the more words we use to express thought,
the more it is cumbered with technicalities and idiomatic phrases, just
so much more gross, and feeble, and uninviting it becomes, because
robbed of its ideal