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danger, they bend beneath the curse of universal soldiering. I 
like to think that they will guard the Raid of their manhood 
even beyond the point of prudence.” rake 
Another chapter is given to the elaboration of a definition of 
Art. Here it is: ‘* Art is an expression, satisfying and abiding, 
of the zest of life.’ ‘That seems to me, if not all that can,be 
said on the matter, at least very true and to the point so far as it 
goes. Gissing goes on: ‘‘ This is applicable to every form of 
Art devised by man, for, in his creative moment, the artist is 
moved and inspired by supreme enjoyment of some aspect of the 
world around him; an enjoyment in itself keener than that 
experienced by another man, and intensified, prolonged by the 
power of recording in visible or audible form that emotion of rare 
vitality.” In another section he says: ‘‘ The characteristic 
motive of English poetry is love of nature, especially of nature 
as seen in the English rural landscape. From the ‘ Cuckoo 
Song’ of our language in its beginning, to the perfect loveliness 
of Tennyson’s best verse, this note is ever sounding. ‘The reign 
of the iambic couplet confined, but could not suppress this 
native music; Pope notwithstanding, there came the ‘ Ode to 
Evening,’ and that ‘ Elegy’ which, unsurpassed for beauty of 
thought and nobility of utterance in all the treasury of our 
lyrics, remains perhaps the most essentially English poem ever 
written.” 
This attribute of our national mind availed even to give rise 
to an English school of painting. It came late; that it came at 
all is remarkable enough. So profound is the English joy in 
meadow and stream and hill, that, unsatisfied at last with vocal 
expression, it took up the brush, the pencil, and tiie etching 
tool, and created a new form of Art. 
« Art,” he goes on, ‘‘in some degree, is within the scope of 
every human being, be he the ploughman who utters a few 
would-be melodious notes, the mere outcome of health and 
strength, or that other one, also at the plough, who sang of the 
daisy, of the field-mouse, and shaped the rhythmic tale of ‘ Tam 
O’Shanter’ in word and music such as go to the heart of 
mankind, and hold a magic power for ages.” 
By writing only the following ecstasy, Gissing would earn a 
place as an artist :—‘* All about my garden to-day the birds are 
loud. To say that the air is filled with their song, gives no idea 
of the ceaseless piping, trilling, and whistling, which at moments 
rings to heaven in a triumphant unison, a wild accord. Now 
and then I notice one of the smaller songsters, who seems to 
strain his throat in a madly joyous endeavour to out-carol all the 
