infernal and damnable "good old times" extolled.' One is almost tempted
to say the same--when one hears their praises come from certain
mouths--of the good old books. It is not everyone, of course, who has an
opinion of his own upon any subject, far less on that of literature, but
everyone can abstain from expressing an opinion that is not his own. If
one has no voice, what possible compensation can there be in becoming an
echo? No one, I conclude, would wish to see literature discoursed about
in the same pinchbeck and affected style as are painting and music;[3]
yet that is what will happen if this prolific weed of sham admiration is
permitted to attain its full growth.

[3] The slang of art-talk has reached the 'young men' in the
furniture warehouses. A friend of mine was recommended a sideboard
the other day as not being a Chippendale, but as 'having a
Chippendale _feeling_ in it.'




_THE PINCH OF POVERTY_.


In these days of reduction of rents, or of total abstinence from
rent-paying, it is, I am told, the correct thing to be 'a little pressed
for money.' It is a sign of connection with the landed interest (like
the banker's ejaculation in 'Middlemarch') and suggests family acres,
and entails, and a position in the county. (In which case I know a good
many people who are landlords on a very extensive scale, and have made
allowances for their tenants the generosity of which may be described as
Quixotic.) But as a general rule, and in times less exceptionally hard,