ng like highly-finished
poetry against time. It is equally clear that scientific discovery,
which, though it may flash suddenly upon the mind of the discoverer, is
always the result of long brooding over the most patient observations,
must come at its own moments, and cannot be commanded. The activity of
poets and discoverers would be paralyzed by exigencies which stimulate
the activity of soldiers and men of business. The truth is, that
intelligence and energy are beneficially stimulated by pressure from
without, whereas the working of the higher intellect is impeded by it,
and that to such a degree that in times of the greatest pressure the
high intellectual life is altogether suspended, to leave free play to
the lower but more immediately serviceable intelligence.

This being so, it becomes a necessary part of the art of intellectual
living so to order our work as to shield ourselves if possible, at least
during a certain portion of our time, from the evil consequences of
hurry. The whole secret lies in a single word--Selection.

An excellent landscape painter told me that whatever he had to do, he
always took the greatest pains to arrange his work so as never to have
his tranquillity disturbed by haste. His system, which is quite
applicable to many other things than landscape painting, was based on
the principle of selection. He always took care to determine beforehand
how much time he could devote to each sketch or study, and then, from
the mass of natural facts before him, selected the most valuable facts
which could be recorded in the time at his disposal. But however short
that time might be, he was always perfectly cool and deliberate in the
employment of it. Indeed this coolness and his skill in selection helped
each other mutually, for he chose wisely because he was cool, and he had
time to be cool by reason of the wisdom of his selection. In his little
memoranda, done in five minutes, the lines were laid just as
deliberately as the tints on an elaborate picture; the difference being
in choice only, not in speed.

Now if we apply this art of selection to all our labors it will give us
much of that landscape painter's enviable coolness, and enable us to
work more satisfactorily. Suppose that instead of painting and sketching
we have to do a great deal of reading and writing: the art is to select
the reading which will be most useful to our purpose, and, in writing,
to select the words which will express our