1. We commonly distinguish writings which appeal directly to the
emotions from those of which the immediate object is the conveyance of
knowledge, by applying to the former a term of conveniently loose
meaning, "works of imagination." Of the kinds included in the wide
denotation of this term there are three, between which it seems
difficult at first sight to draw a definite line; which appeal to
similar feelings, and excite a similar interest, in the different ages
to which each is appropriate. These are the epic poem, the drama, and
the novel. Each purports to be, in some sort, a reflex of human life and
action, as obeying certain laws and tending to a certain end. In each
men are represented, not as at rest, or in contemplative isolation, but
in co-operation or collision. In each there is a combination of two
elements, an outer element of incident, an inner of passion and
character. In view of these common features, we might be tempted at
first sight to suppose the difference between the three kinds to be
merely one of form, merely the difference between the vehicle of prose
and the vehicle of metre. We shall find, however, on deeper inquiry,
that to the true artist, who does not find his materials in the world,
but creates them according to the inner laws by which the world and
himself are governed, the vehicle is not more a part of his creation
than the "impassioned truth" which it conveys. Here, as elsewhere, form
and substance are inseparable; and the difference of form that
distinguishes the novel from the other kinds of composition which it
seems for the present to have superseded, symbolises, or rather is
identical with, a different potency in the art by which the substance is
created.[1]