manhood.

As the voice of the American has retreated from his chest to his
throat and nasal passages, so there is danger that his contribution
to literature will soon cease to imply any blood or viscera, or
healthful carnality, or depth of human and manly affection, and
will be the fruit entirely of our toploftical brilliancy and
cleverness.

What I complain of is just as true of the essayists and the critics
as of the novelists. The prevailing tone here also is born of a
feeling of immense superiority. How our lofty young men, for
instance, look down upon Carlyle, and administer their masterly
rebukes to him! But see how Carlyle treats Burns, or Scott, or
Johnson, or Novalis, or any of his heroes. Ay, there's the rub; he
makes heroes of them, which is not a trick of small natures. He can
say of Johnson that he was "moonstruck," but it is from no lofty
height of fancied superiority, but he uses the word as a naturalist
uses a term to describe an object he loves.

What we want, and perhaps have got more of than I am ready to
admit, is a race of writers who affiliate with their subjects, and
enter into them through their blood, their sexuality and manliness,
instead of standing apart and criticising them and writing about
them through mere intellectual cleverness and "smartness."



VII