24. JOURNAL AND PROCEEDINGS, 
In the first place, before going on to establish this definition, we 
will have to meet an alarming array of opposing authority. Taine 
defines a novelist to be “one who labors to manifest the invisible 
world of inward inclinations and dispositions by the visible world of 
outward words and actions;” that is, Taine says that novel is the 
highest which confines itself to words and actions and has nothing 
directly to do with the inner life My definition expressly and 
emphatically includes the portrayal of this inner life. Taine’s de- 
finition is endorsed by Mathew Arnold and is accepted, implicitly 
at least, by many critics. I think this definition is already a little 
out of date, for modern novels almost universally show the works of 
the watch as well as the dial. The definition is too narrow, and for 
this reason: If we have a full, true conception of life we will find | 
that we cannot embody it in this kind of novel which is only an ex- 
tended form of the drama, because the life you and I live is not, can- 
not be, represented by our words and actions. What we say and what 
we do may point to the motives that outweighed all others, but will 
give nosign of the terrible struggles between conflicting motives that 
mark the crises of our lives and are more truly, andmore vividly, a part 
of our experience than anything external can be. There may be 
raging within usa battle whose issue entails more momentous conse- 
quences for our lives than did Waterloo for the political future of 
Napoleon, and yet the only external facts to be noted may be the 
pale cheek, the strained and anxious brow. Little of our joy and 
grief is shown in our smiles and sobs. The actual circumstances of 
the moment form but a small part of our experience at any time ; 
memory and imagination give nearly all the depth and power. 
There is probably no life without its romance, and yet there are very 
few lives in which there is any romantic incident. Romance has a 
solely subjective existence. The highest workings of our natures in 
intellect and imagination can show themselves only very indirectly 
and ambiguously in words and actions. Nearly all our wealth of 
passionate, rich, and exquisite feeling is known only to ourselves and 
never betrays itself in word or gesture. These secret workings of 
mind and heart make the real life of each one of us, and we often 
long for someone who would judge us, not by the conventionalities 
required of us, but by this truest and best life which is throbbing or 
soaring within us. All these realities of life may be talked about 
and described but cannot be made to exhibit themselves. Do not 
