called "A Good Story." One monk, with his hat on and an umbrella in his hand, sits erect with a smile on his face; the other monk lies back in his chair convulsed with laughter. It is easy to perceive which told the story. The emotion of the teller is one of joyous surprise at its effect upon the other. He has controlled his own feeling so as to dominate the emotion of his listener.

Intensity and repose, therefore, relate chiefly to the attitude of the man toward feeling and expression; to the control of, or the power to reserve and accumulate, emotion. They are secured when the man is able to sustain his intellectual or imaginative activity in such relation to his sensibility as to accumulate and yet direct feeling.

Plaint.

DARK, deep, and cold the current flows
Unto the sea where no wind blows,
Seeking the land which no one knows.
O'er its sad gloom still comes and goes
The mingled wail of friends and foes,
Borne to the land which no one knows.
Alone with God, where no wind blows,
And Death, his shadow doomed, he goes:
That God is there the shadow shows.

O shoreless Deep, where no wind blows!

And, thou, O Land which no one knows!
That God is All, His shadow shows.

Elliott.

Again, all emotion is expressed as ideally as possible. Of course, truthfulness or naturalness is a great law; but one may be weak and another strong. What is natural to a strong man may not be so to the weak one. Of course, art will choose what is natural to the strong rather than what is characteristic of the weak. A strong man, after losing his mother, does not go about whining and pouring out his tears and revealing his sorrow. He reserves it. His voice is more subdued; he speaks a little slower; he shows effort in controlling his breath. Natural dignity requires this. There is a fundamental impulse in sorrow to cause tears, and to agitate the breath and voice; but there is also an effort in the strong man to control it.

There is thus in the expression of all the emotions a conflict of tendencies. In heroic, patriotic, or sublime emotion, the natural

impulse is toward extravagance and declamation; but at the same time there is an inclination to reserve. There is spontaneous

effort everywhere in humanity to sustain conditions, and expression must regard this.

Thus we find from our study of emotion that the first or wildest impulse need not be the dominant one. There is co-ordination of impulses in all true abandon. Contrary tendencies toward excitement and reserve must be properly balanced in order to gain the repose and intensity which characterize all noble expression.

THE OLD GRENADIER'S STORY.

'T was the day beside the Pyramids, — it seems but an hour ago,
That Kleber's Foot stood firm in squares, returning blow for blow.
The Mamelukes were tossing their standards to the sky,
When I heard a child's voice say,

My men, teach me the way to die!"
'T was a little drummer, with his side torn terribly with shot;
But still he feebly beat his drum, as though the wound were not.
And when the Mamelukes' wild horse burst with a scream and cry,
He said, "O men of the Forty-third, teach me the way to die!
"My mother has got other sons, with stouter hearts than mine,
But none more ready blood for France to pour out free as wine.
Yet still life's sweet," the brave lad moaned, "fair are this earth and sky;
Then, comrades of the Forty-third, teach me the way to die!"

Oh, never saw I sight like that! The sergeant flung down flag,
Even the fifer bound his brow with a wet and bloody rag,
Then looked at locks and fixed their steel, but never made reply,
Until he sobbed out once again, "Teach me the way to die!"

Then, with a shout that flew to God, they strode into the fray;
I saw their red plumes join and wave, but slowly melt away.

The last who went a wounded man bade the poor boy good-bye,
And said, "We men of the Forty-third teach you the way to die!"

Then, with a musket for a crutch, he leaped into the fight;
I, with a bullet in my hip, had neither strength nor might.
But, proudly beating on his drum, a fever in his eye,

I heard him moan, "The Forty-third taught me the way to die!"

They found him on the morrow, stretched on a heap of dead;
His hand was in the grenadier's who at his bidding bled.
They hung a medal round his neck, and closed his dauntless eye;
On the stone they cut, "The Forty-third taught him the way to die!"

'Tis forty years from then till now, the grave gapes at my feet;

Yet when I think of such a boy I feel my old heart beat.

And from my sleep I sometimes wake, hearing a feeble cry,

And a voice that says, "Now, Forty-third, teach me the way to die !''

Thornbury.

XXV. SUGGESTION.

"THERE are, said Professor Monroe, three great words in expression, imagination, sympathy, and suggestion." The last of these is vitally connected with the other two.

Suggestion implies that all expression is only a hint, that truth and passion cannot be given adequately. Thought and feeling are subtle and spiritual, transcending all symbols. A word is but a conventional symbol, and all expression only an intimation. If we have seen an object, and have associated a word with it in common with others, the name will call up the object, and a more or less adequate conception of it will be formed. Other things being equal, however, all names are inadequate, and simply stand for ideas and objects familiar to ordinary minds. Hence such higher actions of the mind, as imagination and feeling, can be suggested only to corresponding faculties in other men.

To understand this more fully, some study of the nature of expression will be helpful. We are apt to consider that thought and emotion can be given to our fellow-men. But, as we have said, this cannot be done. We cannot impart an emotion or thought to any being whose nature is unlike our own. All expression implies simply communion. It is the union of mind with mind. All that one man can do is to awaken in another mind the same faculties which are active in his own. A word evokes only ideas previously associated with it. A combination of words and ideas, however, may suggest new conceptions and truths, and arouse another mind to apprehend them. By an appeal to the imagination and to sympathy, one mind can be awakened by another to higher creative activity.

Vocal expression uses a great many languages simultaneously. Inflection, however, and tone-color are not languages which furnish symbols or signs of ideas; they merely hint in a natural way the

degree of sympathy, the point of view, the purpose and feeling of the speaker. Words also are mere suggestions; yet they far more adequately represent ideas than do inflection or tone-color in the voice.

In the expression of feeling, it is necessary to suggest the cause. A man crying on the street may awaken in the beholder either pity or ridicule, but the emotion he feels himself is not awakened in another until he conveys the cause. Thus some forms of expression are necessarily associated with others. True expression of feeling must be associated with the expression of thought.

Thus all expression must be complete; any isolated language will be a very imperfect medium. True expression is a complex combination of suggestions through various languages. Not only so, but where expression is made too definite and representative in the use of any one language, it is rendered more inadequate and superficial. The common-place expressions or statements of literal facts are never suggestive. The higher the subject and the deeper the feeling, the more expression is dependent upon intimation.

Again, the subjects of the highest expression are not objects of sense. The great literatures of the world, the greatest subjects of human thought, have not been seen by ourselves: they belong to history, or are in the soul of man. Even with our eyes we see but the outside of things. The closest observer is one who not only uses his eyes, but his imagination.

Poetry calls upon us to express ideas of eternity. We must conceive the transcendent ideals of the human mind. We must struggle even for an imperfect conception of God.

We must express, in short, things which cannot be adequately conceived. How can we do this? Take, for example, an extract such as this,

ROLL on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain.

Byron.

No mind can adequately conceive the ocean. But to try to express the ocean itself is wholly to misconceive expression. Expression,

especially vocal expression, is subjective; it reveals the attitude of the mind. It manifests the activity of the mind rather than the concept of the mind. It reveals the act of comprehending rather than comprehension itself. Hence, what can be done in such a situation is to awaken another mind with ours, to stretch out for a comprehension of the sea. We cannot conceive adequately the whole ocean, but we can show others how far our mind can reach; and as other minds are like our own, we can inspire them also to reach with us. The great speaker must have such a trained imagination that he can show greater activity of the mind in comprehending such things, and stimulate other minds to a greater stretch, and to act beyond their customary limits.

The same is true of our efforts to express our conception of a mountain, or any unusual or sublime idea.

Mont Blanc.

MONT Blanc yet gleams on high: the power is there,

The still and solemn power of many sights

And many sounds, and much of life and death.

In the calm darkness of the moonless nights,

In the lone glare of day, the snows descend
Upon that Mountain; none beholds them there,
Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun,
Or the star-beams dart through them. - Winds contend
Silently there, and heap the snow with breath
Rapid and strong, but silently! Its home
The voiceless lightning in these solitudes
Keeps innocently, and like vapour broods
Over the snow. The secret strength of things
Which governs thought, and to the infinite dome
Of heaven is as a law, inhabits thee!

And what were thou, and earth and stars and sea,
If to the human mind's imaginings

Silence and solitude were vacancy?

Shelley.

Here the mind must struggle to comprehend Mont Blanc, or a certain part of it. The reader may awaken the memory of one who has seen the mountain; but no two persons have seen exactly the same things in a mountain, and if his expression is perfect, or in proportion as it is perfect, he will awaken in another mind a point of view different from his own. He will stimulate imagination more than memory.