He sought him in public squares and main streets, in
boulevards and hotels; and, in the solidest kingdom of routine and the
senses, he showed the lurking daemonic power; that, in actions of
routine, a thread of mythology and fable spins itself; and this, by
tracing the pedigree of every usage and practice, every institution,
utensil, and means, home to its origin in the structure of man. He had
an extreme impatience of conjecture, and of rhetoric. "I have guesses
enough of my own; if a man write a book, let him set down only what
he knows." He writes in the plainest and lowest tone, omitting a great
deal more than he writes, and putting ever a thing for a word. He has
explained the distinction between the antique and the modern spirit
and art. He has defined art, its scope and laws. He has said the best
things about nature that ever were said. He treats nature as the old
philosophers, as the seven wise masters did,--and, with whatever loss
of French tabulation and dissection, poetry and humanity remain to us;
and they have some doctorial skill. Eyes are better, on the whole,
than telescopes or microscopes.
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