when the person is mightiest, and amazes us by the giant leaps of his intuition, the mere peculiarities of his personality are unseen and unfelt.  This is the case with Homer, Shakspeare, and Goethe, in poetry,—­with Plato and Bacon, in philosophy,—­with Newton, in science,—­with Caesar, in war.  Such men doubtless had peculiarities and caprices, but they were “burnt and purged away” by the fire of their genius, when its action was intensest.  Then their whole natures were melted down into pure force and insight, and the impression they leave upon the mind is the impression of marvellous force and weight and reach of thought.

If it be objected, that these high examples are fitted to provoke despair rather than stimulate emulation, the answer is, that they contain, exemplify, and emphasize the principles, and flash subtile hints of the processes, of all mental growth and production.  How comes it that these men’s thoughts radiate from them as acts, endowed not only with an illuminating, but a penetrating and animating power?  The answer to this is a statement of the genesis, not merely of genius, but of every form of intellectual manhood; for such thoughts do not leap, a la Minerva, full-grown from the head, but are struck off in those moments when the whole nature of the thinker is alive and aglow with an inspiration kindled long before in remote recesses of consciousness from one spark of immortal fire, and unweariedly burning, burning, burning, until it lit up the whole inert mass of surrounding mind in flame.

To show, indeed, how little there is of the extempore, the hap-hazard, the hit-or-miss, in the character of creative thought, and how completely the gladdest inspiration is earned, let us glance at the psychological history of one of those imperial ideas which measure the power, test the quality, and convey the life, of the minds that conceive them.  The progress of such an idea is from film to form.  It has its origin in an atmosphere of feeling; for the first vital movement of the mind is emotional, and is expressed in a dim tendency, a feeble feeling after the object, or the class of objects, related to the peculiar constitution and latent affinities of its individual being.  This tendency gradually condenses and deepens into a sentiment, pervading the man with a love of those objects,—­by a sweet compulsion ordering his energies in their direction,—­and by slow degrees investing them, through a process of imagination, with the attribute of beauty, and, through a process of reason, investing the purpose with which he pursues them with the attribute of intelligence.  The object dilates as the mind assimilates and the nature moves, so that every step in this advance from mere emotion to vivid insight is a building up of the faculties which each onward movement evokes and exercises,—­sentiment, imagination, reason increasing their power and enlarging their scope with each impetus that speeds them on to their bright and beckoning goal.  Then, when the individual has reached his full mental stature, and come in direct contact with the object, then, only then, does he “pluck out the heart of its mystery” in one of those lightning-like acts of thought which we call combination, invention, discovery.