But this optimism, like that resulting from other
stimulants, is dearly bought. Its shrift is too short. And let nobody
forget that for each variety of pathological optimism and brilliance
and beauty there are ninety and nine corresponding sorts of
pathological pessimism and dullness and ugliness induced by disorders
of the liver, heart, stomach, brain, skin, and so on without end.

The thing for artists to do is to find out what physical conditions
make for the best art in the long run, and then secure these
conditions in as short a run as possible. If tuberculosis makes for
it, then by all means let those of us who are sincerely devoted to art
be inoculated without delay. If the family doctor refuses to oblige,
all we have to do is to avoid fresh air, kiss indiscriminately,
practice a systematic neglect of colds, and frequent the subway during
rush hours. If alcohol makes for the best art, let us forthwith be
admitted to the bar--the stern judgment bar where each solitary
drinker is arraigned. For it is universally admitted that in art,
quality is more important than quantity. "If that powerful corrosive,
alcohol, only makes us do a little first-class work, what matter if it
corrode us to death immediately afterwards? We shall have had our
day." Thus many a gallant soul argues. But is there not another ideal
which is as far above mere quality as quality is above mere quantity?
I think there is. It is quantity of quality. And quantity of quality
is exactly the thing that cannot brook the corrosiveness of powerful
stimulants.

I am not satisfied, however, that stimulants make entirely for the
fine quality of even the short shrift. To my ear, tubercular optimism,
when thumped on the chest, sounds a bit hollow. It does not ring quite
as true as healthy optimism because one feels in the long run its
automatic, pathological character. Thus tubercular, alcoholized, and
drugged art may often be recognized by its somewhat artificial,
unhuman, abnormal quality. I believe that if the geniuses who have
done their work under the influence of these stimulants had, instead,
trained sound bodies as for an Olympic victory, the arts would to-day
be the richer in quantity of quality. On this point George Meredith
wrote a trenchant word in a letter to W. G. Collins:

I think that the notion of drinking any kind of alcohol as a
stimulant for intellectual work can have entered the minds
of those only who snatch at the fo