air. And personally he disliked
indebtedness.

Another man might have handed Rickman a cheque for fifty pounds (the
price of the catalogue _raisonne_) and washed his hands of him. But
Jewdwine was incapable of that grossness.

He gave the matter a fortnight's delicate consideration. At the end of
that time he had made up his mind not only to invite Rickman to
contribute regularly to _The Museion_ (a thing he would have done in
any case) but to offer him, temporarily, the sub-editorship. Rash as
this resolution seemed, Jewdwine had fenced himself carefully from any
risk. The arrangement was not to be considered permanent until Rickman
had proved himself both capable and steady--if then. In giving him any
work at all on _The Museion_ Jewdwine felt that he was stretching a
point. It was a somewhat liberal rendering of his editorial programme.

_The Museion_ was the one solitary literary journal that had the
courage to profess openly a philosophy of criticism. Its philosophy
might be obsolete, it might be fantastic, it might be altogether
wrong; the point was that it was there. Its presence was a protest
against the spirit of anarchy in the world of letters. The paper had
lost influence lately owing to a certain rigidity in the methods of
its late editor, also to an increasing dulness in its style. It was
suffering, like all old things, from the unequal competition with
insurgent youth. The proprietors were almost relieved when the death
of its editor provided them with a suitable opportunity for giving it
over into the hands of younger men. "We want new blood," said the
proprietors. The difficulty was how to combine new blood with the old
spirit, and Horace Jewdwine solved their problem, presenting the
remarkable combination of an old head upon comparatively young
shoulders. He was responsible, authoritative, inspired by a high and
noble seriousness. He had taken his Aristotle with a high and noble
seriousness; and in the same spirit he had approached his Kant, his
Hegel and his Schopenhauer in succession. He was equipped with the
most beautiful metaphysical theory of Art, and had himself written
certain _Prolegomena to AEsthetics_.

Metaphysics had preyed on Jewdwine like a flame. He was consumed with
a passion for unity. The unity which Nature only strives after,
blindly, furiously, ineffectually; the unity barely reached by the
serene and luminous processes of Thought--the artist achieves it with
one stroke. In him