But let us examine this principle a little more attentively—­for it is the palmary one.  As I conceive it, that understanding of literature which we desire in our Euphues, our gracefully-minded youth, will include knowledge in varying degree, yet is itself something distinct from knowledge.  Let us illustrate this upon Poetry, which the most of us will allow to be the highest form of literary expression, if not of all artistic expression.  Of all the testimony paid to Poetry, none commands better witness than this—­that, as Johnson said of Gray’s Elegy ’it abounds with images which find a mirror in every mind, and with sentiments to which every heart returns an echo.’  When George Eliot said, ’I never before met with so many of my own feelings expressed just as I should like them,’ she but repeated of Wordsworth (in homelier, more familiar fashion) what Johnson said of Gray; and the same testimony lies implicit in Emerson’s fine remark that ’Universal history, the poets, the romancers’—­all good writers, in short—­’do not anywhere make us feel that we intrude, that this is for our betters.  Rather it is true that, in their greatest strokes, there we feel most at home.’  The mass of evidence, of which these are samples, may be summarised thus:—­As we dwell here between two mysteries, of a soul within and an ordered Universe without, so among us are granted to dwell certain men of more delicate intellectual fibre than their fellows—­men whose minds have, as it were, filaments to intercept, apprehend, conduct, translate home to us stray messages between these two mysteries, as modern telegraphy has learnt to search out, snatch, gather home human messages astray over waste waters of the Ocean.

If, then, the ordinary man be done this service by the poet, that (as Dr Johnson defines it) ’he feels what he remembers to have felt before, but he feels it with a great increase of sensibility’; or even if, though the message be unfamiliar, it suggests to us, in Wordsworth’s phrase, to ‘feel that we are greater than we know,’ I submit that we respond to it less by anything that usually passes for knowledge, than by an improvement of sensibility, a tuning up of the mind to the poet’s pitch; so that the man we are proud to send forth from our Schools will be remarkable less for something he can take out of his wallet and exhibit for knowledge, than for being something, and that ‘something,’ a man of unmistakable intellectual breeding, whose trained judgment we can trust to choose the better and reject the worse.

But since this refining of the critical judgment happens to be less easy of practice than the memorising of much that passes for knowledge—­of what happened to Harriet or what Blake said to the soldier—­and far less easy to examine on, the pedagogic mind (which I implore you not to suppose me confusing with the scholarly) for avoidance of trouble tends all the while to dodge or obfuscate what is essential, piling