something extrinsic to the subject, a kind of ornamentation laid on to
tickle the taste, a study for the _dilettante_, but beneath the notice of
_their_ stern and masculine minds.

Such a view, as he justly points out, belongs rather to the Oriental mind
than to our civilisation: it reminds him of the way young gentlemen go to
work in the East when they would engage in correspondence with the object
of their affection. The enamoured one cannot write a sentence himself:
_he_ is the specialist in passion (for the moment); but thought and words
are two things to him, and for words he must go to another specialist,
the professional letter-writer. Thus there is a division of labour.

The man of words, duly instructed, dips the pen of desire in the ink of
devotedness and proceeds to spread it over the page of desolation. Then
the nightingale of affection is heard to warble to the rose of
loveliness, while the breeze of anxiety plays around the brow of
expectation. That is what the Easterns are said to consider fine
writing; and it seems pretty much the idea of the school of critics to
which I have been referring.

Now hear this fine passage:--

Thought and speech are inseparable from each other. Matter and
expression are parts of one; style is a thinking out into language.
That is what I have been laying down, and this is literature; not
_things_, but the verbal symbols of things; not on the other hand mere
_words_; but thoughts expressed in language. Call to mind, gentlemen,
the meaning of the Greek word which expresses this special prerogative
of man over the feeble intelligence of the lower animals. It is called
Logos; what does Logos mean? it stands both for _reason_ and for