[8] This law of originality I have never seen better stated than by Coleridge, in a passage justifying the form of Shakespeare’s dramas against a mode of criticism which has now, happily, gone out of use.  “The true ground,” says he, “of the mistake lies in the confounding mechanical regularity with organic form.  The form is mechanic, when on any given material we impress a predetermined form, not necessarily arising out of the properties of the material; as when to a mass of wet clay we give whatever shape we wish it to retain when hardened.  The organic form, on the other hand, is innate; it shapes, as it develops, itself from within, and the fulness of its development is one and the same with the perfection of its outward form.  Such as the life is, such is the form.  Nature, the prime genial artist, inexhaustible in diverse powers, is equally inexhaustible in forms:  each exterior is the physiognomy of the being within,—­its true image reflected and thrown out from the concave mirror.”—­With this may well be coupled Schlegel’s remarks on the same point:  “Form is mechanical when it is impressed upon any piece of matter by an outward operation, as an accidental addition without regard to the nature of the thing; as, for example, when we give any form at pleasure to a soft mass, to be retained after induration.  Organic form on the contrary, is innate; it unfolds, itself from within, and attains its determinate character along with the full development of the germ.  Such forms are found in Nature universally, wherever living powers are in action.  And in Art, as well as in Nature, the supreme artist, all genuine forms are organic, that is, are determined by the quality of the work.  In short, the form is no other than a significant exterior, the physiognomy of a thing,—­when not defaced by disturbing accidents, the speaking physiognomy,—­which bears true witness of its hidden essence.”

All this, however, is nowise to be understood as inferring that a great original artist must be an independent or isolated growth, without parents and brethren, and the natural aids and inspirations of society.  This never was and never can be.  Art-life must be had in common, or not at all.  In this, as in other things, many minds must grow up together, else none can grow up.  And no form of Art ever grew to perfection, or any thing near it, but that it was and long had been matter of strong national passion, or of a free and vigorous public spirit.  Men are not kindled to such a height without many convergent rays of fellowship.  In other words, before excellence of Art in any kind can come, there has to be a large and long preparation, and this not only in the spiritual culture and development of the people, but also in the formal order and method of the thing.  Accordingly great artists, so far as the history of the matter is known, have always lived and worked in successions and clusters, each adding something, till at length