his after-dinner optimism to get the better of his observation and experience. He is moved by thought, but less conscious of its truth or beauty than of its supposed efficacy for cheering, that is bamboozling: and this purpose of his cannot beget afflatus sufficient to rise to a fine form and movement, so his utterance is outclassed not only by Shelley's, which is beautiful, but by Arnold's, which, though plain, is sincere.
I mentioned that some of the best poetry has been honestly charged with immorality. Such accusations are usually made by people who regard the fact that poets can and often do preach excellent sermons as the only excuse for verse. Now to elucidate this difficulty we must conceive of English morality as something dependent on the customs and habits of the English, not as an absolute criterion of worth. In practical life it is a mistake to run counter to one's neighbours without a weighty reason without being prepared to suffer as a consequence.
But in the realm of contemplation, whither poetry should lift us, morality, instead of being established, is a project.
There, if it is not to prove futile, neither deed nor doer must be left unconsidered, but the whole reality must be harmoniously reviewed. For this reason we should welcome all who can give fine literary form to any accident, however inconvenient that accident may be in a mundane sphere. An unpalatable truth thus becomes associated with beauty—an object for contemplation, yielding refreshment and recreation.
"It is all very well in a book," as people say of extravagant behaviour, implying that in practice it is less pardonable; and what they say is quite true. Only their tone of voice may be disparaging to literature and betray the penury of their taste.
A consequence of this more comprehensive horizon
