71 
/ CHILI) OF NATURE 
throbbing with His measureless life. 
It was the stuff of immortal life 
which found its way through Fos- 
ter's rich hut silent personality into 
this record of his experience ; it 
was the stuff, therefore, of which 
literature is made. For literature 
is not fashioned out of hand ; its 
substance is secreted slowly and 
silently in the depths of the spirit 
out of all its passions, sorrows, toils, 
cares, and works, with flashing of 
Stars sinking unawares into its heart, 
and great swelling harmonies bear- 
ing it onward in those infrequent 
ecstasies which sometimes lift it 
above itself. In simplicity and sin- 
cerity, with no thought oi the read- 
ing of other eyes, as genuinely and 
'[95] ' 
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