not least pleasure to the critic. Of its subsidiary arts and arrangements of art space would fail me to speak at length, but the two most important articles, so important, indeed, that with the architectural process they may be said to form the three great secrets of prose success, are simplicity of language, and directness of expression in the shorter clause and phrase. It is against these two that the pseudo-stylists of our day sin most constantly. A gaudy vocabulary is thought a mark of style: a non-natural, twisted, allusive phrase is thought a mark of it. Now no reasonable person, certainly no competent critic, will advocate a grisâtre style; all that such a critic will contend for is a remembrance of the rule of the Good Clerk,—

"Red ink for ornament and black for use."

There are occasions for red ink in prose writing, no doubt; but they are not every man's occasions, nor are they for the men whose occasions they are on every day or on every subject. Not only the test passages taken above, but most of those which follow in the text, will show what extreme error, what bad art, what blind lack of observation, is implied in the peppering and salting of sentence after sentence with strange words or with familiar words used strangely. It is not wanted to produce the effect aimed at; it may safely be added that it produces the effect aimed at only in the case of persons who are not competent to judge whether the mark has been hit. Obscurity of phrase, on the other hand, is only a more venial crime than gaudiness of language because it takes a little more trouble on the part of the sinner. It is at least as bad in itself. It may safely be laid down that in almost any case where the phrase is not comprehended as soon as read by a person of decent intelligence and education-in almost any case where, without quite exceptional need for emphasis or for attracting his atten

tion, a non-natural, involved, laboured diction is used-in almost any case where, as Addison has it of Durfey," words are brought together that, without his good offices, would never have been acquainted with one another, so long as it had been a tongue❞— there is bad style. Exceptions there are, no doubt, as in the other case; the fault, as always, is in making the exception the rule.

To conclude, the remarks which have been made in this Essay are no doubt in many cases disputable, probably in some cases mistaken. They are given, not as dogma, but as doxa; not as laws to guide practitioners whose practice is very likely better than the lawgiver's, but as the result of a good many years' reading of the English literature of all ages with a constantly critical intent. And of that critical intent one thing can be said with confidence, that the presence and the observation of it, so far from injuring the delight of reading, add to that delight in an extraordinary degree. It infuses toleration in the study of the worst writers-for there is at any rate the result of a discovery or an illustration of some secret of badness; it heightens the pleasure in the perusal of the best by transforming a confused into a rational appreciation. I do not think that keeping an eye on style ever interfered with attention to matter in any competent writer; I am quite sure that it never interfered with that attention in any competent reader. Less obvious, more contestable in detail, far more difficult of continuous observance than the technical excellences of verse, the technical excellences of prose demand, if a less rare, a not less alert and vigorous exercise of mental power to produce or to appreciate them. Nor will any time spent in acquiring pleasant and profitable learning be spent to much better advantage than the time necessary to master the principles and taste the expression of what has been called, by a master of both, "the other harmony of prose."

POSTSCRIPT.

The plan of the following Specimens will have been partly perceived from the foregoing Essay. A more direct and elaborate explanation of it would perhaps be out of place. Lectori benevolo supervacanea, nihil curat malevolus. It is sufficient to say that the endeavour has been to provide, not a book of beauties, but a collection of characteristic examples of written style. This being so, examples of what may be called spoken style;—that is to say, letters, drama, and oratory, have been for the most part excluded, the first and last being in some rare cases admitted when it was difficult otherwise to exhibit the powers of some admitted master of prose. For a somewhat different reason, prose fiction has been but scantily drawn upon. For convenience' sake the terminus a quo has been fixed at the invention of printing: considerations of space, which with others from the first shut out living writers, have led to the inferior birth-limit being fixed at 1800. The head-notes aim only at the briefest outline of biographical information, and sometimes of general criticism, which will be found not unfrequently supplemented in the Essay. The foot-notes are intended to give such information on points both of matter and form as may be sufficient to prevent a reader of average intelligence and information from being molested in his reading by obvious difficulties. It should be added that in the selection of the passages I have received considerable assistance, though the final responsibility for their choice is in all cases mine. In the case of the Essay and the Notes this responsibility is both final and initial.

G. S.

SIR THOMAS MALORY.

Nothing is known of the life of Sir Thomas Malory or Maleore. He is said to have been a Welshman and not Sir Knight but Sir Priest. He finished his work in the ninth year of King Edward the Fourth, and it was printed by Caxton in 1485. Compilation as it is, it has caught the whole spirit and beauty of the Arthurian legends, and is one of the first monuments of accomplished English prose.

THE DEATH OF LANCELOT.

Hye mighty and pompous lords, winning in the glory transitory of this unstable life, as in reigning over great realms and mighty great countries, fortified with strong castles and towers, edified with many a rich city: Ye also, ye fierce and mighty knights, so valiant in adventurous deeds of arms, behold, behold, see how this mighty conqueror King Arthur, whom in his human life all the world doubted, yea also the noble Queen Guenever, which sometime sat in her chair adorned with gold, pearls, and precious stones, now lie full low in obscure foss or pit covered with clods of earth and clay. Behold also this mighty champion Sir Launcelot, peerless of all knighthood, see now how he lieth grovelling upon the cold mould, now being so feeble and faint, that sometime was so terrible, how and in what manner ought ye to be so desirous of worldly honour so dangerous. Therefore me thinketh this present book is right necessary often to be read, for in all ye find the most gracious, knightly and virtuous war of the most noble knights of the world, whereby they got praising continually. Also me seemeth by the oft reading thereof, ye shall greatly desire to accustom yourself in

B

the following of those gracious knightly deeds, that is to say, to dread God and to love righteousness, faithfully and courageously to serve your sovereign Prince. And the more that God hath given you the triumphal honour, the meeker ye ought to be, ever fearing the unstableness of this deceitful world, and so I pass over and turn again unto my matter.

So within six weeks after Sir Launcelot fell sick, and lay in his bed; and then he sent for the bishop that there was hermit, and all his true fellows. Then Sir Launcelot said with dreary steven : "Sir Bishop, I pray you that ye will give me all my rights that belongeth unto a Christian man.” "It shall not need you," said the hermit and all his fellows, "it is but a heaviness of the blood, ye shall be well amended by the grace of God tomorrow."

"My fair lords,” said Sir Launcelot, "wit ye well, my careful body will into the earth, I have warning more than I will now say, therefore I pray you give me my rights." So when he was houseled and enealed and had all that a Christian man ought to have, he prayed the bishop that his fellows might bear his body unto Joyous Gard. Some men say Anwick, and some men's say is Bamborow.

"Howbeit," said Sir Launcelot," me repenteth sore, but I made mine avow sometime, that in Joyous Gard I would be buried, and because of breaking of my vow I pray you all lead me thither." Then there was weeping and wringing of hands among all his fellows. So at the season of the night, they went all to their beds, for they all lay in one chamber; so after midnight against day, the bishop that was hermit, as he lay in his bed asleep he fell on a great laughter; and therewith the fellowship awoke, and came unto the bishop and asked him what he ailed. Ah Jesus, mercy," said the bishop, "why did ye awake me, I was never in all my life so merry and so well at ease." "Why, wherefore?" said Sir Bors.

“Truly,” said the bishop, “here was Sir Launcelot with me, with more angels than ever I saw men upon one day; and I saw the angels heave Sir Launcelot towards heaven, and the gates of heaven opened against him." "It is but dretching of swevens," said Sir Bors, "for I doubt not Sir Launcelot aileth nothing but