elevates and refines a man's character, broadens his sympathies, deepens his faith, and reveals to him truths far more quenching to the thirst of the soul than the floods of riches-secrets that are "writ in the golden stars," in the earth, in sea, and in the nature of man, that this is not so much the rare and often peace-destroying possession of poetic genius, but that "deep poetic heart" which all of us may gain if we will, and the possession of which the favourite poet of the present time has told us is

"More than all poetic fame."

The greatest philosopher of antiquity banished poetry from his ideal republic. I hope on another occasion to weigh fully the indictment that he brings against it. For the present it is enough to say that the accusation lies chiefly in these two points: first, that as an imitative art it deals not with realities but with appearances; secondly, that by constantly harping on our heart-strings, by exciting our emotions to no purpose, it renders unnaturally sensitive, and at the same time weakens the feelings. Now, true as this charge may be when brought against a certain class of so-called poetry and art (and I fear that by far the greater amount of modern literature—to say nothing of modern plays, and modern pictures—comes under this class), it is our duty, if we are not to acquiesce in the severe sentence of banishment passed by Plato on poetry, to acquit her of these charges; and while attempting to accomplish this,

I quote in conclusion for my own encouragement the recommendation to mercy pronounced by the same stern but just arbiter.

After saying that the sentence of exile must remain in force against poetry until she has herself made a satisfactory defence in lyrical or other measure, he adds,* "and we shall also allow those of her patrons who are lovers of poetry without being poets to advocate her cause in prose, by maintaining that poetry is not only pleasurable, but profitable in its bearings upon government and upon human life; and we shall listen to them favourably. For we shall, I believe, be gainers if this can be proved."

It is with the sole object of attempting this defence of poetry that I shall in the next chapter venture to discuss the nature of art; for I believe that poetry, when it is true poetry,-and not only poetry, but all art-is, if rightly understood and used, not merely the minister of pleasure, the exciter of meaningless and enervating emotions, the mover of “idle tears," or the source of æsthetic raptures, but that it is profitable, not in a meagre Utilitarian sense, but in a sense of the word which would satisfy Plato himself.

Rep. x. 607.

CHAPTER II.

ART CREATION.

IN the last chapter I endeavoured to trace the rise and the development of the written language, to show how various kinds of alphabets first arose, and how finally true letters represented the sounds of speech. We also considered recorded language in its widest meaning, and then limited our definition of true literature to that which, by the medium of recorded words, presents to us in some form or other ideas.

On the present occasion I wish to say first a few words about the nature and object of Art, and then to show, as well as I can, some of the methods by which the Poet attains the object of his art; and to contrast these methods with those used by the Painter and Sculptor.

First, therefore, while philosophy treats of ideas without forms, and science gives us forms without ideas (these two methods being often combined), the function of art is to produce forms that shall represent

ideas; and such artistic form is an "entirety," real by virtue of the idea that it reveals.

This definition of art, though it may not seem to be so, is radically different from and subversive of the definition that has been given by several great thinkers, and which is repeated and accepted nowadays with such naïveté by those who do not see that by so doing they are confirming the most just verdict of banishment passed on such art by Plato.

Shortly stated, the two opposing definitions are the following-I. Art creates-its end is to reveal. 2. Art reproduces, ¿.e. imitates—its end is pleasure.

You will find that the view taken of art varies, in those who have any right to be called thinkers, with their philosophy. Let us hear what some of these

have to say.

First, as I have already shown, Plato, accepting the ordinary definition that of imitation, and pleasure,—excommunicates poetry as not only worthless but dangerous. And justly he does so; for, if we accept his premiss, poetry (and what he says of poetry applies equally to all art) should be banished from our lives. You remember, however, that, after pronouncing sentence, he still yearns towards her, and would fain recall the verdict if only she could be cleared of the charges brought against her. Let us therefore examine these charges.

Plato assumes as his premiss that art imitates nature. In this imitation, he says, "the author is

twice removed from the thing as it was created;" that is, he imitates an object which is itself only a representation, an imitation, of the truth which it represents. The natural object, standing exactly where it is in the order of things, fulfils its end. Taken out of that order of things, unconnected with the idea that it thus and there represents, it is like a dismembered branch. Stuck in the ground, it looks like a living thing for a time, but has no root and withers away— a dead stock. Life consists in unity. It is the One in the Many. A thing that is not an entirety is dead. Imitations from nature are not entireties.

Now our sole appeal against this is that art does not imitate. Its function does not lie in reproducing a likeness (however cleverly copied) on canvas, in marble, or in words. The worth of a picture, as a work of art, does not consist in its illusive qualities. It is no test of worth that (as was related of a production by Zeuxis) grapes should be so wonderfully reproduced that birds should peck at them, nor that a horse should neigh at his painted fellow horse. The study of nature is useful merely for the acquisition of material. The most laborious and clever reproduction of nature is in itself merely an accumulation of material, to be used perhaps by the accumulator, but more probably by the artist who appropriates the savings of these collectors, and builds with the materials brought together by these "hodmen" of art. Thus we see such poets as Dante and Shakespeare