[84004] in SIPB IPv6
First Month FREE on Every Home Warranty.
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (The CHOICE Home Warranty)
Mon Sep 12 14:29:04 2016
Date: Mon, 12 Sep 2016 15:58:22 -0400
From: "The CHOICE Home Warranty" <the-choice-home-warranty@back-seatdriver.com>
To: <sipbv6-mtg@charon2.mit.edu>
<html xmlns=3D"http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<head>=20
</head>=20
<body>
=20
<br />=20
<br />=20
<br />=20
<meta content=3D"text/html; charset=3Dutf-8" http-equiv=3D"Content-Type=
" />=20
<title></title>=20
<center>=20
<table border=3D"0" cellpadding=3D"0" cellspacing=3D"0" width=3D"593">=
=20
<tbody>=20
<tr>=20
<td><a href=3D"http://www.back-seatdriver.com/a078n6t62.7i124EnvkLX-dhVtFMuKmji10hvV0ONW1a7/expired-Haskins"><img alt=3D"Protect Your Home with a Choic=
e Home Warranty Today. Get a FREE Instant Price Quote." border=3D"0" height=
=3D"600" src=3D"http://www.back-seatdriver.com/b517jUa6JRM29Z124YnvkLX-dhVtFMuKmji10hvV0ONW7c1/appointing-hospitalizing" width=3D"650" /></a></td>=20
</tr>=20
<tr>=20
<td> <p style=3D"text-align: center; color: black; font-size: 11p=
x; font-weight:bold; ">All Choice Home Warranty plans are subject to ter=
ms and conditions</p>=20
<div align=3D"center" style=3D"color:#000; font-size:11px">
A home warranty is a renewable service contract that covers the rep=
air or replacement of many of the most frequently occurring breakdowns of s=
ystem components and appliances.
<br /> Your home is most likely one of your biggest investments. Un=
expected repair or replacement costs of covered items can easily strain you=
r budget. Plus, finding a qualified professional to solve your problems can=
be stressful and inconvenient.
<br /> All Choice Home Warranty plans are subject to terms and cond=
itions.
</div> </td>=20
</tr>=20
</tbody>=20
</table>=20
</center>=20
<div style=3D"font:normal 10px Arial, Times New Roman, sans-serif; colo=
r:#ffffff; ">=20
<p>First Month FREE on Every Home Warranty. Style, the Latin name for an=
iron pen, has come to designate the art that handles, with ever fresh vita=
lity and wary alacrity, the fluid elements of speech. By a figure, obvious =
enough, which yet might serve for an epitome of literary method, the most r=
igid and simplest of instruments has lent its name to the subtlest and most=
flexible of arts. Thence the application of the word has been extended to =
arts other than literature, to the whole range of the activities of man. Th=
e fact that we use the word " style" in speaking of architecture =
and sculpture, painting and music, dancing, play-acting, and cricket, that =
we can apply it to the careful achievements of the housebreaker and the poi=
soner, and to the spontaneous animal movements of the limbs of man or beast=
, is the noblest of unconscious tributes to the faculty of letters. The pen=
, scratching on wax or paper, has become the symbol of all that is expressi=
ve, all that is intimate, in human nature; not only arms and arts, but man =
himself, has yielded to it. His living voice, with its undulations and infl=
exions, assisted by the mobile play of feature and an infinite variety of b=
odily gesture, is driven to borrow dignity from the same metaphor; the orat=
or and the actor are fain to be judged by style. " It is most true,&qu=
ot; says the author of The Anatomy of Melancholy, " stylus virum argui=
t, our style bewrays us." Other gestures shift and change and flit, th=
is is the ultimate and enduring revelation of personality. The actor and th=
e orator are condemned to work evanescent effects on transitory material; t=
he dust that they write on is blown about their graves. The sculptor and th=
e architect deal in less perishable ware, but the stuff is recalcitrant and=
stubborn, and will not take the impress of all states of the soul. Morals,=
philosophy, and aesthetic, mood and conviction, creed and whim, habit, pas=
sion, and demonstration--what art but the art of literature admits the entr=
ance of all these, and guards them from the suddenness of mortality? What o=
ther art gives scope to natures and dispositions so diverse, and to tastes =
so contrarious? Euclid and Shelley, Edmund Spenser and Herbert Spencer, Kin=
g David and David Hume, are all followers of the art of letters. In the eff=
ort to explain the principles of an art so bewildering in its variety, writ=
ers on style have gladly availed themselves of analogy from the other arts,=
and have spoken, for the most part, not without a parable. It is a pleasan=
t trick they put upon their pupils, whom they gladden with the delusion of =
a golden age, and perfection to be sought backwards, in arts less complex. =
The teacher of writing, past master in the juggling craft of language, expl=
ains that he is only carrying into letters the principles of counterpoint, =
or that it is all a matter of colour and perspective, or that structure and=
ornament are the beginning and end of his intent. Professor of eloquence a=
nd of thieving, his winged shoes remark him as he skips from metaphor to me=
taphor, not daring to trust himself to the partial and frail support of any=
single figure. He lures the astonished novice through as many trades as we=
re ever housed in the central hall of the world' s fair. From his distracti=
ng account of the business it would appear that he is now building a monume=
nt, anon he is painting a picture (with brushes dipped in a gallipot made o=
f an earthquake); again he strikes a keynote, weaves a pattern, draws a wir=
e, drives a nail, treads a measure, sounds a trumpet, or hits a target; or =
skirmishes around his subject; or lays it bare with a dissecting knife; or =
embalms a thought; or crucifies an enemy. What is he really doing all the t=
ime? Besides the artist two things are to be considered in every art,-- the=
instrument and the audience; or, to deal in less figured phrase, the mediu=
m and the public. From both of these the artist, if he would find freedom f=
or the exercise of all his powers, must sit decently aloof. It is the misfo=
rtune of the actor, the singer, and the dancer, that their bodies are their=
sole instruments. On to the stage of their activities they carry the heart=
that nourishes them and the lungs wherewith they breathe, so that the soul=
, to escape degradation, must seek a more remote and difficult privacy. Tha=
t immemorial right of the soul to make the body its home, a welcome escape =
from publicity and a refuge for sincerity, must be largely foregone by the =
actor, who has scant liberty to decorate and administer for his private beh=
oof an apartment that is also a place of business. His ownership is limited=
by the necessities of his trade; when the customers are gone, he eats and =
sleeps in the bar-parlour. Nor is the instrument of his performances a thin=
g of his choice; the poorest skill of the violinist may exercise itself upo=
n a Stradivarius, but the actor is reduced to fiddle for the term of his na=
tural life upon the face and fingers that he got from his mother. The seren=
e detachment that may be achieved by disciples of greater arts can hardly b=
e his, applause touches his personal pride too nearly, the mocking echoes o=
f derision infest the solitude of his retired imagination. In none of the w=
orld' s great polities has the practice of this art been found consistent w=
ith noble rank or honourable estate. Christianity might be expected to spar=
e some sympathy for a calling that offers prizes to abandonment and self-im=
molation, but her eye is fixed on a more distant mark than the pleasure of =
the populace, and, as in gladiatorial Rome of old, her best efforts have be=
en used to stop the games. Society, on the other hand, preoccupied with the=
art of life, has no warmer gift than patronage for those whose skill and e=
nergy exhaust themselves on the mimicry of life. The reward of social consi=
deration is refused, it is true, to all artists, or accepted by them at the=
ir immediate peril. By a natural adjustment, in countries where the artist =
has sought and attained a certain modest social elevation, the issue has be=
en changed, and the architect or painter, when his health is proposed, find=
s himself, sorely against the grain, returning thanks for the employer of l=
abour, the genial host, the faithful husband, the tender father, and other =
pillars of society. The risk of too great familiarity with an audience whic=
h insists on honouring the artist irrelevantly, at the expense of the art, =
must be run by all; a more clinging evil besets the actor, in that he can a=
t no time wholly escape from his phantasmal second self. On this creature o=
f his art he has lavished the last doit of human capacity for expression; w=
ith what bearing shall he face the exacting realities of life? Devotion to =
his profession has beggared him of his personality; ague, old age and pover=
ty, love and death, find in him an entertainer who plies them with a feeble=
repetition of the triumphs formerly prepared for a larger and less imperio=
us audience. The very journalist--though he, too, when his profession takes=
him by the throat, may expound himself to his wife in phrases stolen from =
his own leaders--is a miracle of detachment in comparison; he has not put h=
is laughter to sale. It is well for the soul' s health of the artist that a=
definite boundary should separate his garden from his farm, so that when h=
e escapes from the conventions that rule his work he may be free to recreat=
e himself. But where shall the weary player keep holiday? Is not all the wo=
rld a stage? Whatever the chosen instrument of an art may be, its appeal to=
those whose attention it bespeaks must be made through the senses. Music, =
which works with the vibrations of a material substance, makes this appeal =
through the ear; painting through the eye; it is of a piece with the comple=
xity of the literary art that it employs both channels,--as it might seem t=
o a careless apprehension, indifferently. For the writer' s pianoforte is t=
he dictionary, words are the material in which he works, and words may eith=
er strike the ear or be gathered by the eye from the printed page. The alte=
rnative will be called delusive, for, in European literature at least, ther=
e is no word-symbol that does not imply a spoken sound, and no excellence w=
ithout euphony. But the other way is possible, the gulf between mind and mi=
nd may be bridged by something which has a right to the name of literature =
although it exacts no aid from the ear. The picture-writing of the Indians,=
the hieroglyphs of Egypt, may be cited as examples of literary meaning con=
veyed with no implicit help from the spoken word. Such an art, were it capa=
ble of high development, would forsake the kinship of melody, and depend fo=
r its sensual elements of delight on the laws of decorative pattern. In a l=
and of deaf-mutes it might come to a measure of perfection. But where human=
intercourse is chiefly by speech, its connexion with the interests and pas=
sions of daily life would perforce be of the feeblest, it would tend more a=
nd more to cast off the fetters of meaning that it might do freer service t=
o the jealous god of visible beauty. The overpowering rivalry of speech wou=
ld rob it of all its symbolic intent and leave its bare picture. Literature=
has favoured rather the way of the ear and has given itself zealously to t=
he tuneful ordering of sounds. Let it be repeated, therefore, that for the =
traffic of letters the senses are but the door-keepers of the mind; none of=
them commands an only way of access,--the deaf can read by sight, the blin=
d by touch. It is not amid the bustle of the live senses, but in an under-w=
orld of dead impressions that Poetry works her will, raising that in power =
which was sown in weakness, quickening a spiritual body from the ashes of t=
he natural body. The mind of man is peopled, like some silent city, with a =
sleeping company of reminiscences, associations, impressions, attitudes, em=
otions, to be awakened into fierce activity at the touch of words. By one w=
ay or another, with a fanfaronnade of the marching trumpets, or stealthily,=
by noiseless passages and dark posterns, the troop of suggesters enters th=
e citadel, to do its work within. The procession of beautiful sounds that i=
s a poem passes in through the main gate, and forthwith the by-ways resound=
to the hurry of ghostly feet, until the small company of adventurers is we=
ll-nigh lost and overwhelmed in that throng of insurgent spirits. To attemp=
t to reduce the art of literature to its component sense- elements is there=
fore vain. Memory, " the warder of the brain," is a fickle truste=
e, whimsically lavish to strangers, giving up to the appeal of a spoken wor=
d or unspoken symbol, an odour or a touch, all that has been garnered by th=
e sensitive capacities of man. It is the part of the writer to play upon me=
mory, confusing what belongs to one sense with what belongs to another, ext=
orting images of colour at a word, raising ideas of harmony without breakin=
g the stillness of the air. He can lead on the dance of words till their si=
nuous movements call forth, as if by mesmerism, the likeness of some adaman=
tine rigidity, time is converted into space, and music begets sculpture. To=
see for the sake of seeing, to hear for the sake of hearing, are subsidiar=
y exercises of his complex metaphysical art, to be counted among its rudime=
nts. Picture and music can furnish but the faint beginnings of a philosophy=
of letters. Necessary though they be to a writer, they are transmuted in h=
is service to new forms, and made to further purposes not their own. The po=
wer of vision--hardly can a writer, least of all if he be a poet, forego th=
at part of his equipment. In dealing with the impalpable, dim subjects that=
lie beyond the border-land of exact knowledge, the poetic instinct seeks a=
lways to bring them into clear definition and bright concrete imagery, so t=
hat it might seem for the moment as if painting also could deal with them. =
Every abstract conception, as it passes into the light of the creative imag=
ination, acquires structure and firmness and colour, as flowers do in the l=
ight of the sun. Life and Death, Love and Youth, Hope and Time, become pers=
ons in poetry, not that they may wear the tawdry habiliments of the studio,=
but because persons are the objects of the most familiar sympathy and the =
most intimate knowledge. How long, O Death? And shall thy feet depart Still=
a young child' s with mine, or wilt thou stand Full grown the helpful daug=
hter of my heart, What time with thee indeed I reach the strand Of the pale=
wave which knows thee what thou art, And drink it in the hollow of thy han=
d? And as a keen eye for the imagery attendant on a word is essential to al=
l writing, whether prose or poetry, that attempts the heart, so languor of =
the visual faculty can work disaster even in the calm periods of philosophi=
c expatiation. " It cannot be doubted," says one whose daily medi=
tations enrich The People' s Post-Bag, " that Fear is, to a great exte=
nt, the mother of Cruelty." Alas, by the introduction of that brief pr=
oviso, conceived in a spirit of admirably cautious self-defence, the writer=
has unwittingly given himself to the horns of a dilemma whose ferocity not=
hing can mitigate. These tempered and conditional truths are not in nature,=
which decrees, with uncompromising dogmatism, that either a woman is one' =
s mother, or she is not. The writer probably meant merely that " fear =
is one of the causes of cruelty," and had he used a colourless abstrac=
t word the platitude might pass unchallenged. But a vague desire for the em=
phasis and glamour of literature having brought in the word " mother,&=
quot; has yet failed to set the sluggish imagination to work, and a word so=
glowing with picture and vivid with sentiment is damped and dulled by the =
thumb-mark of besotted usage to mean no more than " cause" or &qu=
ot; occasion." Only for the poet, perhaps, are words live winged thing=
s, flashing with colour and laden with scent; yet one poor spark of imagina=
tion might save them from this sad descent to sterility and darkness. Of no=
less import is the power of melody which chooses, rejects, and orders word=
s for the satisfaction that a cunningly varied return of sound can give to =
the ear. Some critics have amused themselves with the hope that here, in th=
e laws and practices regulating the audible cadence of words, may be found =
the first principles of style, the form which fashions the matter, the appr=
enticeship to beauty which alone can make an art of truth. And it may be ad=
mitted that verse, owning, as it does, a professed and canonical allegiance=
to music, sometimes carries its devotion so far that thought swoons into m=
elody, and the thing said seems a discovery made by the way in the search f=
or tuneful expression.</p>=20
</div>=20
<hr width=3D"50%" />=20
<div style=3D"text-align: center; ">
<font size=3D"2">Change your options by visiting <a href=3D"=
http://www.back-seatdriver.com/centralized-pension/1d48s9hD62B8Q124HnvkLX-dhVtFMuKmji10hvV0ONW388">here</a><br /> 2220 Meridian Blvd.,Suite #763, Minden, NV 89423</fo=
nt>
</div>=20
<img src=3D"http://www.back-seatdriver.com/c9b8hH56o2_aI124xnvkLX-dhVtFMuKmji10hvV0ONW4b4/reacquired-multiword" alt=3D""/></body>
</html>
