est," "Paradise Lost," the "Republic," "Don
Quixote"--is all

Seraphically free
From taint of personality.

And Flaubert, that gladiator among artists, held that, at its highest,
literary art could be carried into pure science. 'I believe,' said he,
'that great art is scientific and impersonal. You should by an
intellectual effort transport yourself into characters, not draw _them_
into _yourself_. That at least is the method.' On the other hand, says
Goethe, 'We should endeavour to use words that correspond as closely as
possible with what we feel, see, think, imagine, experience, and reason.
It is an endeavour we cannot evade and must daily renew.' I call
Flaubert's the better counsel, even though I have spent a part of this
lecture in attempting to prove it impossible. It at least is noble,
encouraging us to what is difficult. The shrewder Goethe encourages us to
exploit ourselves to the top of our bent. I think Flaubert would have hit
the mark if for 'impersonal' he had substituted 'disinterested.'

For--believe me, Gentlemen--so far as Handel stands above Chopin, as
Velasquez above Greuze, even so far stand the great masculine objective
writers above all who appeal to you by parade of personality or private
sentiment.

Mention of these great masculine 'objective' writers brings me to my last
word: which is, 'Steep yourselves in _them_: habitually bring all to the
test of _them_: for while you cannot escape the fate of all style, which
is to be personal, the more of catholic manhood you inherit from those
great loins the more you will assuredly beget.'

This then is Style. As technically manifested in Literature it is the
power to touch with ease, grace, precision, any note in the gamut of
human thought or emotion.

But essentially it resembles good manners. It comes of endeavouring to
understand others, of thinking for them rather than for yourself--of
thinking, that is, with the heart as well as the head. It gives rather
than receives; it is nobly careless of thanks or applause, not being fed
by these but rather sustained and continually refreshed by an inward
loyalty to the best. Yet, like 'character' it has its altar within; to
that retires for counsel, from that fetches its illumination, to ray
outwards. Cultivate, Gentlemen, that habit of withdrawing to be advised
by the best. So, says Fenelon, 'you will find yourself infinitely
quieter, your words will be fewer and more effectual; and w