SIR W. ROBERTSON NICOLL 207 the more democratic livery disguised — and one learns, with some shamefacedness, that what we had been simply treating as intrepid journalism was in reality fine literature, concealing its rank out of courtesy, moving among us incognito that it might aid us all the more. A Bookmans Letters is letters in both senses of the word. It is not a collection of reprinted articles one feels. The articles, on the contrary, were but the advance instalments of this book. Instead of finding (as we had supposed) its perfect oppor- tunity in causeries, the genius of Claudius Clear only reaches its full height when it is granted the larger scale and boundaries of a book. II Now, there are several traceable reasons for this, but they all circle round the simplest. It is this. These articles must be read in bulk before they yield their finest pleasures, because they are wholly un- affected. The writer who scores in brief articles, but goes to pieces in a book, is the man whose literary existence is a succession of attitudes ; it is the essayist who always writes sincerely, who never strains out- side his native temper, who only reaches his full vigour when collected. The reverse might seem more natural. Monotony, not added interest, might seem the fatal consequence of his composed adherence to one key. But in reality it is not so ; the loyalty produces a new harmony ; and the recurrence of certain elements, the slow disclosure of a personality, gives a wonderful new weight to every word. Even when the personality is not (as here it is decidedly) one eminent for charm and charming power, yet the massed result would still possess the finer beauty. For the basic attribute of art is simply unity, con- gruity : and the book written wholly with sincerity,
