forget that he has a technique at all, since he shares his tool, language, with men of all callings whatever. He feels himself, accordingly, to be dependent altogether upon a mysterious "visitation" for his inspiration. At least this mystery surrounding his creations has much to do with removing the artist from the comparative freedom from self-consciousness that we ascribe to the general run of men. In addition it removes him from the comparative humility of other thinkers, who are wont to think of their discoveries as following inevitably upon their data, so that they themselves deserve credit only as they are persistent and painstaking in following the clues. The genesis of Sir Isaac Newton's discovery has been compared to poetical inspiration; yet even in this case the difference is apparent, and Newton did not identify himself with the universe he conceived, as the poet is in the habit of doing. Not being able to account for his inspirations, the poet seems to be driven inevitably either into excessive humility, since he feels that his words are not his own, or into inordinate pride, since he feels that he is able to see and express without volition truths that other men cannot glimpse with the utmost effort. He may disclaim all credit for his performance, in the words of a nineteenth-century verse-writer: This is the end of the book Written by God. I am the earth he took, I am the rod, The iron and wood which he struck With his sounding rod. [Footnote: L. E. Mitchell, _Written at the End of a Book._] a statement that provokes wonder as to God's sensations at having such amateurish works come out under his name. But this sort of humility is really a protean manifestation of egotism, as is clear in the religious states that bear resemblance to the poet's. This the Methodist "experience meeting" abundantly illustrates, where endless loquacity is considered justifiable, because the glory of one's experience is due, not to one's self, but to the Almighty. The minor American poets in the middle of the last century are often found exhorting one another to humility, quite after the prayer-meeting tradition. Bitter is their denunciation of the poet's arrogance: A man that's proud--vile groveller in the dust, Dependent on the mercy of his God For every breath. [Footnote: B. Saunders, _To Chatterton._] Again they declare that the poet should be Self-reading, not self-loving, they are twain, [Footnote: Henry Timrod, _A Vision of Poesy._] telling him, Think not of thine own self, [Footnote: Richard Gilder, _To the Poet._] adding, Always, O bard, humility is power. [Footnote: Henry Timrod, _Poet If on a Lasting Fame._] One is reminded of Mrs. Heep's repeated adjuration, "Be 'umble, Ury," and the likeness is not lessened when we find them ingratiatingly sidling themselves into public favor. We hear them timidly inquiring of their inspiration, Shall not the violet bloom? [Footnote: Mrs. Evans, _Apologetic._]