men and women have seen the sunset pass, loving it even as
I love it. They have gone into the silence as I too shall go, and no
hint comes back as to whether they understand and are satisfied.

And now I turn in at the well-known gate, and see the dark gables of my
house, with the high elms of the grove outlined against the pale sky.
The cheerful windows sparkle with warmth and light, welcoming me, fresh
from the chilly air, out of the homeless fields. With such array of
cheerful usages I beguile my wondering heart, and chase away the wild
insistent thoughts, the deep yearnings that thrill me. Thus am I bidden
to desire and to be unsatisfied, to rest and marvel not, to stay, on
this unsubstantial show of peace and security, the aching and wondering
will.

December 4, 1888.

Writing, like music, ought to have two dimensions--a horizontal
movement of melody, a perpendicular depth of tone. A person unskilled
in music can only recognise a single horizontal movement, an air. One
who is a little more skilled can recognise the composition of a chord.
A real musician can read a score horizontally, with all its contrasting
and combining melodies. Sometimes one gets, in writing, a piece of
horizontal structure, a firm and majestic melody, with but little
harmony. Such are the great spare, strong stories of the old world.
Modern writing tends to lay much more emphasis upon depth of colour,
and the danger there is that such writing may become a mere
structureless modulation, The perfect combination is to get firm
structure, sparingly and economically enriched by colour, but colour
always subordinated to structure. When I was young I undervalued
structure and overvalued colour; but it was a good training in a way,
because I learned to appreciate the vital necessity of structure, and I
learnt the command of harmony. What is it that gives structure? It is
firm and clear intellectual conception, the grasp of form and
proportion; while colour is given by depth and richness of personality,
by power of perception, and still more by the power of fusing
perception with personality. The important thing here is that the thing
perceived and felt should not simply be registered and pigeon-holed,
but that it should become a cell of the writer's soul, respond to his
pulse, be animated by his vital forces.

Now, in my present state, I have lost my hold on melody in some way or
other; my creative intellectual power has struck work; and when