The question in what the life led by men so enamored of beauty differs from that of the common multitude, is then earnestly asked.  This high poetic disdain,—­how did it comport itself when struggling with material interests?  These ineffable emotions of ethereal love,—­how were they guarded from the bitterness of petty cares, from that rapidly growing and corroding mould which usually stifles or poisons them?  How many of such feelings were preserved from that subtle evaporation which robs them of their perfume, that gradually increasing inconstancy which lulls us until we forget to call the dying emotions to account?  Those who felt such holy indignation,—­were they indeed always just?  Those who exalted integrity,—­were they always equitable?  Those who sung of honor,—­did they never stoop?  Those who so admired fortitude,—­have they never compromised with their own weakness?

A deep interest is also felt in ascertaining how those to whom the task of sustaining our faith in the nobler sentiments through art has been intrusted, have conducted themselves in external affairs, where pecuniary gain is only to be acquired at the expense of delicacy, loyalty, or honor.  Many assert that the nobler feelings exist only in the works of art.  When some unfortunate occurrence seems to give a deplorable foundation to the words of such mockers, with what avidity they name the most exquisite conceptions of the poet, “vain phantoms!” How they plume themselves upon their own wisdom in having advocated the politic doctrine of an astute, yet honeyed hypocrisy; how they delight to speak of the perpetual contradiction between words and deeds!....With what cruel joy they detail such occurrences, and cite such examples in the presence of those unsteady restless souls, who are incited by their youthful aspirations and by the depression and utter loss of happy confidence which such a conviction would entail upon them, to struggle against a distrust so blighting!  When such wavering spirits are engaged in the bitter combat with the harsh alternatives of life, or tempted at every turn by its insinuating seductions, what a profound discouragement seizes upon them when they are induced to believe that the hearts devoted to the most sublime thoughts, the most deeply initiated in the most delicate susceptibilities, the most charmed by the beauty of innocence, have denied, by their acts, the sincerity of their worship for the noble themes which they have sung as poets!  With what agonizing doubts are they not filled by such flagrant contradictions!  How much is their anguish increased by the jeering mockery of those who repeat:  “Poetry is only that which might have been”—­and who delight in blaspheming it by their guilty negations!  Whatever may be the human short-comings of the gifted, believe the truths they sing!  Poetry is more than the gigantic shadow of our own imagination, immeasurably increased, and projected upon the flying plane of the Impossible.  Poetry and reality are