a certain law, or the
mode of administering it, is unjust. He does not mention himself, but
makes his men and women speak his arguments. Another man writes a
treatise of forty pages and gives you his views out of his own mouth.
But he does not put himself into his treatise any more than the other
into his novel. For my part, I think the use of "I" is the shortest and
simplest way of launching one's opinions. Even a _we_ bulges out into
twice the space that _I_ requires, besides seeming to try to evade
responsibility. Better say "_I_" straight out,--"_I_," responsible for
my words here and elsewhere, as they used to say in Congress under the
old _regime_. Besides being the most brave, "I" is also the most modest.
It delivers your opinions to the world through a perfectly transparent
medium. "I" has no relations. It has no consciousness. It is a pure
abstraction. It detains you not a moment from the subject. "The writer"
does. It brings up ideas entirely detached from the theme, and is
therefore impertinent. All you are after is the thing that is thought.
It is not of the smallest consequence who thought it. You may be certain
that it is not always the people who use "I" the most freely who think
most about themselves; and if you are offended, consider whether it may
not be owing to a certain morbidness of your taste as much as to egotism
in the offender.

Remember, also, that, when a writer talks of himself, he is not
necessarily speaking of his own definite John Smith-ship, that does the
marketing and pays the taxes and is a useful member of society. Not at
all. It is himself as one unit of the great sum of mankind. He means
himself, not as an isolated individual, but as a part of humanity. His
narration is pertinent, because it relates to the human family. He
brings forward a part of the common property. He does not touch that
which pertains exclusively to himself. His self is self-created. His
imaginative may have as large a share in the person as his descriptive
powers. You don't understand me precisely? Sorry for you.

You think me arrogant. You would think so a great deal more, if you knew
me better. At heart I believe I incline very much to the opinion of a
charming friend of mine, that, "after all, nobody in the world is of
much account but Susy and me,"--only in my formula I leave out Susy.
Don't, therefore, think solely of the arrogance that is revealed, but
think also of the masses concealed, and in consider