It is surprising how few men understand that Style is a Fine Art; and how few of those who are fastidious in their diction give much care to the arrangement of their sentences, paragraphs, and chapters—­in a word, to Composition.  The painter distributes his masses with a view to general effect; so does the musician:  writers seldom do so.  Nor do they usually arrange the members of their sentences in that sequence which shall secure for each its proper emphasis and its determining influence on the others—­influence reflected back and influence projected forward.  As an example of the charm that lies in unostentatious antiphony, consider this passage from Ruskin:—­“Originality in expression does not depend on invention of new words; nor originality in poetry on invention of new measures; nor in painting on invention of new colours or new modes of using them.  The chords of music, the harmonies of colour, the general principles of the arrangement of sculptural masses, have been determined long ago, and in all probability cannot be added to any more than they can be altered.”  Men write like this by instinct; and I by no means wish to suggest that writing like this can be produced by rule.  What I suggest is, that in this, as in every other Fine Art, instinct does mostly find itself in accordance with rule; and a knowledge of rules helps to direct the blind gropings of feeling, and to correct the occasional mistakes of instinct.  If, after working his way through a long and involved sentence in which the meaning is rough hewn, the writer were to try its effect upon ear and intellect, he might see its defects and re-shape it into beauty and clearness.  But in general men shirk this labour, partly because it is irksome, and partly because they have no distinct conception of the rules which would make the labour light.

The law of Sequence, we have seen, rests upon the two requisites of Clearness and Harmony.  Men with a delicate sense of rhythm will instinctively distribute their phrases in an order that falls agreeably on the ear, without monotony, and without an echo of other voices; and men with a keen sense of logical relation will instinctively arrange their sentences in an order that best unfolds the meaning.  The French are great masters of the law of Sequence, and, did space Permit, I could cite many excellent examples.  One brief passage from Royer Collard must suffice:—­“Les faits que l’observation laisse epars et muets la causalite les rassemble, les enchaine, leur prete un langage.  Chaque fait revele celui qui a precede, prophetise celui qui va suivre.”