be mindful of these two things: let them be perfect first. You
will make many that are not perfect. In some the soul will be wanting;
in others the body, in a manner of speaking, will be amiss; for they are
living things, these songs, and he that makes them is a kind of god.
Well, if you cannot mend one, throw it aside and think no more of it. Do
not save it because it has some gracious touch, for in this are the
masters of the craft different from the mere makers of songs. The master
will have nothing but what is perfect within and without, while the
lesser craftsman will save a poor song for the sake of a fine line or
phrase.

"And next, you must do it for the love of your art, and not for the
praise it wins you. That is a poisoned wine, of which if you drink, you
will never know the pure and high tranquillity of spirit that befits a
master. The master may be discouraged and troubled oft, but he must have
in his soul a blessed peace, and know the worth and beauty of what he
does; for there is nothing nobler than to make beautiful things, and to
enlighten the generous heart. Fighting is a fair trade, and though it is
noble in much, yet its end is to destroy; but the master of song mars
nought, but makes joy;--and that is the end of my sermon for the time.
And now," he added briskly, "I must be going, for I have far to fare;
but I shall pass by this way again, and shall inquire of your welfare;
tell me your name and where you live." So Paul told him, and then added
timidly enough that he would fain know how to begin to practise his art.
"Silence!" said the minstrel, rather fiercely; "that is an evil and
timorous thought. If you are worthy, you will find the way." And so in
the hot afternoon he said farewell, and walked lightly off. And Paul
stood in wonder and hope, and saw the two figures leave the flat, take
to the down, and wind up the steep road, ever growing smaller, till they
topped the ridge, where they seemed to stand a moment larger than human;
and presently they were lost from view.

So Paul made his way home; and when he pushed the gate of Heritage open,
he wondered to think that he could recollect nothing of the road he had
traversed. He went up to the house and entered the hall. There sate
Mistress Alison, reading in a little book. She closed it as he came in,
and looked at him with a smile. Paul went up to her and said, "Mother"
(so he was used to call her), "I have heard songs to-day such as I never
drea