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onal　and　doubtful　goal；　has　dimmed　his　faculties；　the　glaring　motley　of　the　world；　bathed　in　sunlight；　dazzles　him；　the　questions；　moral；　political；　and　personal；　that　his　method　has　relegated　to　some　future　of　larger　knowledge；　crowd　upon　him；　clamorous　for　solution；　not　to　be　denied；　insisting　on　a　settlement　to…day。　　He　is　forced　to　make　a　choice；　and　may　either　forsake　the　divinity　he　serves；　falling　back；　for　the　practical　and　aesthetic　conduct　of　life；　on　those　common　instincts　of　sensuality　which　oscillate　between　the　conventicle　and　the　tavern　as　the　poles　of　duty　and　pleasure；　or；　more　pathetically　still；　he　may　attempt　to　bring　the　code　of　the　observatory　to　bear　immediately　on　the　vagaries　of　the　untameable　world；　and　suffer　the　pedant's　disaster。　A　martyr　to　the　good　that　is　to　be；　he　has　voluntarily　maimed　himself　〃for　the　kingdom　of　Heaven's　sake〃　…　if；　perchance；　the　kingdom　of　Heaven　might　come　by　observation。　　The　enthusiasm　of　his　self…denial　shows　itself　in　his　unavailing　struggle　to　chain　language　also　to　the　bare　rock　of　ascertained　fact。　　Metaphor；　the　poet's　right…hand　weapon；　he　despises；　all　that　is　tentative；　individual；　struck　off　at　the　urging　of　a　mood；　he　disclaims　and　suspects。　　Yet　the　very　rewards　that　science　promises　have　their　parallel　in　the　domain　of　letters。　　The　discovery　of　likeness　in　the　midst　of　difference；　and　of　difference　in　the　midst　of　likeness；　is　the　keenest　pleasure　of　the　intellect；　and　literary　expression；　as　has　been　said；　is　one　long　series　of　such　discoveries；　each　with　its　thrill　of　incommunicable　happiness；　all　unprecedented；　and　perhaps　unverifiable　by　later　experiment。　　The　finest　instrument　of　these　discoveries　is　metaphor；　the　spectroscope　of　letters。

Enough　has　been　said　of　change；　it　remains　to　speak　of　one　more　of　those　illusions　of　fixity　wherein　writers　seek　exemption　from　the　general　lot。　　Language；　it　has　been　shown；　is　to　be　fitted　to　thought；　and；　further；　there　are　no　synonyms。　　What　more　natural　conclusion　could　be　drawn　by　the　enthusiasm　of　the　artist　than　that　there　is　some　kind　of　preordained　harmony　between　words　and　things；　whereby　expression　and　thought　tally　exactly；　like　the　halves　of　a　puzzle？　　This　illusion；　called　in　France　the　doctrine　of　the　MOT　PROPRE；　is　a　will　o'　the　wisp　which　has　kept　many　an　artist　dancing　on　its　trail。　　That　there　is　one；　and　only　one　way　of　expressing　one　thing　has　been　the　belief　of　other　writers　besides　Gustave　Flaubert；　inspiriting　them　to　a　desperate　and　fruitful　industry。　It　is　an　amiable　fancy；　like　the　dream　of　Michael　Angelo；　who　loved　to　imagine　that　the　statue　existed　already　in　the　block　of　marble；　and　had　only　to　be　stripped　of　its　superfluous　wrappings；　or　like　the　indolent　fallacy　of　those　economic　soothsayers　to　whom　Malthus　brought　rough　awakening；　that　population　and　the　means　of　subsistence　move　side　by　side　in　harmonious　progress。　　But　hunger　does　not　imply　food；　and　there　may　hover　in　the　restless　heads　of　poets；　as　themselves　testify　…


One　thought；　one　grace；　one　wonder；　at　the　least；　Which　into　words　no　virtue　can　digest。


Matter　and　form　are　not　so　separable　as　the　popular　philosophy　would　have　them；　indeed；　the　very　antithesis　between　them　is　a　cardinal　instance　of　how　language　reacts　on　thought；　modifying　and　fixing　a　cloudy　truth。　　The　idea　pursues　form　not　only　that　it　may　be　known　to　others；　but　that　it　may　know　itself；　and　the　body　in　which　it　becomes　incarnate　is　not　to　be　distinguished　from　the　informing　soul。　　It　is　recorded　of　a　famous　Latin　historian　how　he　declared　that　he　would　have　made　Pompey　win　the　battle　of　Pharsalia　had　the　effective　turn　of　the　sentence　required　it。　　He　may　stand　for　the　true　type　of　the　literary　artist。　　The　business　of　letters；　howsoever　simple　it　may　seem　to　those　who　think　truth…telling　a　gift　of　nature；　is　in　reality　two…fold；　to　find　words　for　a　meaning；　and　to　find　a　meaning　for　words。　　Now　it　is　the　words　that　refuse　to　yield；　and　now　the　meaning；　so　that　he　who　attempts　to　wed　them　is　at　the　same　time　altering　his　words　to　suit　his　meaning；　and　modifying　and　shaping　his　meaning　to　satisfy　the　requirements　of　his　words。　　The　humblest　processes　of　thought　have　had　their　first　education　from　language　long　before　they　took　shape　in　literature。　　So　subtle　is　the　connexion　between　the　two　that　it　is　equally　possible　to　call　language　the　form　given　to　the　matter　of　thought；　or；　inverting　the　application　of　the　figure；　to　speak　of　thought　as　the　formal　principle　that　shapes　the　raw　material　of　language。　　It　is　not　until　the　two　become　one　that　they　can　be　known　for　two。　　The　idea　to　be　expressed　is　a　kind　of　mutual　recognition　between　thought　and　language；　which　here　meet　and　claim　each　other　for　the　first　time；　just　as　in　the　first　glance　exchanged　by　lovers；　the　unborn　child　opens　its　eyes　on　the　world；　and　pleads　for　life。　　But　thought；　although　it　may　indulge　itself　with　the　fancy　of　a　predestined　affiance；　is　not　confined　to　one　mate；　but　roves　free　and　is　the　father　of　many　children。　　A　belief　in　the　inevitable　word　is　the　last　refuge　of　that　stubborn　mechanical　theory　of　the　universe　which　has　been　slowly　driven　from　science；　politics；　and　history。　　Amidst　so　much　that　is　undulating；　it　has　pleased　writers　to　imagine　that　truth　persists　and　is　provided　by　heavenly　munificence　with　an　imperishable　garb　of　language。　　But　this　also　is　vanity；　there　is　one　end　appointed　alike　to　all；　fact　goes　the　way　of　fiction；　and　what　is　known　is　no　more　perdurable　than　what　is　made。　　Not　words　nor　works；　but　only　that　which　is　formless　endures；　the　vitality　that　is　another　name　for　change；　the　breath　that　fills　and　shatters　the　bubbles　of　good　and　evil；　of　beauty　and　deformity；　of　truth　and　untruth。

No　art　is　easy；　least　of　all　the　art　of　letters。　　Apply　the　musical　analogy　once　more　to　the　instrument　whereon　literature　performs　its　voluntaries。　　With　a　living　keyboard　of　notes　which　are　all　incessantly　changing　in　value；　so　that　what　rang　true　under　Dr。　Johnson's　hand　may　sound　flat　or　sharp　now；　with　a　range　of　a　myriad　strings；　some　falling　mute　and　others　being　added　from　day　to　day；　with　numberless　permutations　and　combinations；　each　of　which　alters　the　tone　and　pitch　of　the　units　that　compose　it；　with　fluid　ideas　that　never　have　an　outlined　existence　until　they　have　found　their　phrases　and　the　improvisation　is　complete；　is　it　to　be　wondered　at　that　the　art　of　style　is　eternally　elusive；　and　that　the　attempt　to　reduce　it　to　rule　is　the　forlorn　hope　of　academic　infatuation？


These　difficulties　and　complexities　of　the　instrument　are；　nevertheless；　the　least　part　of　the　ordeal　that　is　to　be　undergone　by　the　writer。　　The　same　musical　note　or　phrase　affects　different　ears　in　much　the　same　way；　not　so　the　word　or　group　of　words。　　The　pure　idea；　let　us　say；　is　translated　into　language　by　the　literary　composer；　who　is　to　be　responsible　for　the　retranslation　of　the　language　into　idea？　　Here　begins　the　story　of　the　troubles　and　weaknesses　that　are　imposed　upon　literature　by　the　necessity　it　lies　under　of　addressing　itself　to　an　audience；　by　its　liability　to　anticipate　the　corruptions　that　mar　the　understanding　of　the　spoken　or　written　word。　　A　word　is　the　operative　symbol　of　a　relation　between　two　minds；　and　is　chosen　by　the　one　not　without　regard　to　the　quality　of　the　effect　actually　produced　upon　the　other。　　Men　must　be　spoken　to　in　their　accustomed　tongue；　and　persuaded　that　the　unknown　God　proclaimed　by　the　poet　is　one　whom　aforetime　they　ignorantly　worshipped。　　The　relation　of　great　authors　to　the　public　may　be　compared　to　the　war　of　the　sexes；　a　quiet　watchful　antagonism　between　two　parties　mutually　indispensable　to　each　other；　at　one　time　veiling　itself　in　endearments；　at　another　breaking　out　into　open　defiance。　　He　who　has　a　message　to　deliver　must　wrestle　with　his　fellows　before　he　shall　be　permitted　to　ply　them　with　uncomfortable　or　unfamiliar　truths。　　The　public；　like　the　delicate　Greek　Narcissus；　is　sleepily　enamoured　of　itself；　and　the　name　of　its　only　other　perfect　lover　is　Echo。　　Yet　even　great　authors　must　lay　their　account　with　the　public；　and　it　is　instructive　to　observe　how　different　are　the　attitudes　they　have　adopted；　how　uniform　the　disappointment　they　have　felt。　　Some；　like　Browning　and　Mr。　Meredith　in　our　own　day；　trouble　themselves　little　about　the　reception　given　to　their　work；　but　are　content　to　say　on；　until　the　few　who　care　to　listen　have　expounded　them　to　the　many；　and　they　are　applauded；　in　the　end；　by　a　generation　whom　they　have　trained　to　appreciate　them。　　Yet　this　noble　and　persevering　indifference　is　none　of　their　choice；　and　long　years　of　absolution　from　criticism　must　needs　be　paid　for　in　faults　of　style。　　〃Writing　for　the　stage；〃　Mr。　Meredith　himself　has　remarked；　〃would　be　a　corrective　of　a　too…incrusted　scholarly　style　into　which　some　great　ones　fall　at　times。〃　　Denied　such　a　corrective；　the　great　one　is　apt　to　sit　alone　and　tease　his　meditations　into　strange　shapes；　fortifying　himself　against　obscurity　and　neglect　with　the　reflection　that　most　of　the　words　he　uses　are　to　be　found；　after　all；　in　the　dictionary。　　It　is　not；　however；　from　the　secluded　scholar　that　the　sharpest　cry　of　pain　is　wrung　by　the　indignities　of　his　pos