is true, hears what they say, but he cannot observe their physiognomy
too; he cannot see their _style_. With the Latin works of writers
who think for themselves, the case is different, and their style is
visible; writers, I mean, who have not condescended to any sort
of imitation, such as Scotus Erigena, Petrarch, Bacon, Descartes,
Spinoza, and many others. An affectation in style is like making
grimaces. Further, the language in which a man writes is the
physiognomy of the nation to which he belongs; and here there are many
hard and fast differences, beginning from the language of the Greeks,
down to that of the Caribbean islanders.

To form a provincial estimate of the value of a writer's productions,
it is not directly necessary to know the subject on which he has
thought, or what it is that he has said about it; that would imply
a perusal of all his works. It will be enough, in the main, to know
_how_ he has thought. This, which means the essential temper or
general quality of his mind, may be precisely determined by his style.
A man's style shows the _formal_ nature of all his thoughts--the
formal nature which can never change, be the subject or the character
of his thoughts what it may: it is, as it were, the dough out of which
all the contents of his mind are kneaded. When Eulenspiegel was asked
how long it would take to walk to the next village, he gave the
seemingly incongruous answer: _Walk_. He wanted to find out by the
man's pace the distance he would cover in a given time. In the same
way, when I have read a few pages of an author, I know fairly well how
far he can bring me.

Every mediocre writer tries to mask his own natural style, because in
his heart he knows the truth of what I am saying. He is thus forced,
at the outset, to give up any attempt at being frank or naïve--a