ch of which has to be made the receptacle of
pathos or of humor, of honor or of truth, as far as the thinker may be
able to furnish them. He has to see, above all things, that in his
attempts he shall not sin against nature; that in striving to touch the
feelings he shall not excite ridicule; that in seeking for humor he does
not miss his point; that in quest of honor and truth he does not become
bombastic and straitlaced. A clergyman in his pulpit may advocate an
altitude of virtue fitted to a millennium here or to a heaven hereafter;
nay, from the nature of his profession, he must do so. The poet, too,
may soar as high as he will, and if words suffice to him, he need never
fear to fail because his ideas are too lofty. But he who tells tales in
prose can hardly hope to be effective as a teacher, unless he binds
himself by the circumstances of the world which he finds around him.
Honor and truth there should be, and pathos and humor, but he should so
constrain them that they shall not seem to mount into nature beyond the
ordinary habitations of men and women.

"Such rules as to construction have probably been long known to him. It
is not for them he is seeking as he is roaming listlessly or walking
rapidly through the trees. They have come to him from much observation,
from the writings of others, from that which we call study, in which
imagination has but little immediate concern. It is the fitting of the
rules to the characters which he has created, the filling in with living
touches and true colors those daubs and blotches on his canvas which
have been easily scribbled with a rough hand, that the true work
consists. It is here that he requires that his fancy should be
undisturbed, that the trees should overshadow him, that the birds should
comfort him, that the green and yellow mosses should be in unison with
him, that the very air should be good to him. The rules are there
fixed,--fixed as far as his judgment can fix them,--and are no longer a
difficulty to him. The first coarse outlines of his story he has found
to be a matter almost indifferent to him. It is with these little
plottings that he has to contend. It is for them that he must catch his
Ariel and bind him fast, but yet so bind him that not a thread shall
touch the easy action of his wings. Every little scene must be arranged
so that--if it may be possible--the proper words may be spoken and the
fitting effect produced.

"Alas! with all these struggles,