conveyed, should
be devoid of emotional flourish, and presented with telegraphic
directness and precision. They should have the clarity of
formulas, rather than the distracting array and atmosphere
of form. But ideas presented in the persuasive garb of
beauty, gain in their hold over men what they lose in
precision. Thus an eloquent orator, a touching letter, a vivid
poem, may do more than volumes of the most definitive and
convincing logic to insinuate an idea into men's minds. Compare
in effectiveness the most thoroughgoing treatise on the
status of the agricultural laborer with the stirring momentum
of Edwin Markham's" The Man With the Hoe":

"Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans
Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground,
The emptiness of ages in his face,
And on his back the burden of the world.
Who made him dead to rapture and despair,
A thing that grieves not, and that never hopes,
Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox?
Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw?
Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow?
Whose breath blew out the light within this brain?

"Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave
To have dominion over sea and land;
To trace the stars and search the heavens for power,
To feel the passion of Eternity?
Is this the Dream he dreamed who shaped the suns,
And marked their ways upon the ancient deep?
Down all the stretch of Hell to its last gulf
There is no shape more terrible than this--
More tongued with censure of the world's blind greed--
More filled with signs and portents for the soul--
More fraught with menace to the universe."

An idea clothed with such music and passion is an incomparably
effective means of arousing a response. It is this
which makes art so valuable an instrument of propaganda.
People will respond actively to ideas set forth with fervor by
a Tolstoy or an Ibsen who would be left cold by the flat and
erudite accuracy of a volume on economics. And the confirmed
Platonist is made so perhaps less by the convincingness
of Plato's logic, than by the inevitable and irrefutable grace
of his dramatic art.

There is, for certain persons educated in the arts, a satisfaction
that is neither sensuous nor emotional, but intellectual.
These come to discriminate form with the abstract
though warm interest of the expert. The well-informed concert-goer
begins to appreciate beauties hidden to the uninitiate.
He n