acknowledged classic; you must eschew modern works. The reason for
this does not imply any depreciation of the present age at the expense
of past ages. Indeed, it is important, if you wish ultimately to have
a wide, catholic taste, to guard against the too common assumption
that nothing modern will stand comparison with the classics. In every
age there have been people to sigh: "Ah, yes. Fifty years ago we had
a few great writers. But they are all dead, and no young ones are
arising to take their place." This attitude of mind is deplorable, if
not silly, and is a certain proof of narrow taste. It is a surety that
in 1959 gloomy and egregious persons will be saying: "Ah, yes. At
the beginning of the century there were great poets like Swinburne,
Meredith, Francis Thompson, and Yeats. Great novelists like Hardy and
Conrad. Great historians like Stubbs and Maitland, etc., etc. But they
are all dead now, and whom have we to take their place?" It is not
until an age has receded into history, and all its mediocrity has
dropped away from it, that we can see it as it is--as a group of men
of genius. We forget the immense amount of twaddle that the great
epochs produced. The total amount of fine literature created in a
given period of time differs from epoch to epoch, but it does not
differ much. And we may be perfectly sure that our own age will make a
favourable impression upon that excellent judge, posterity. Therefore,
beware of disparaging the present in your own mind. While temporarily
ignoring it, dwell upon the idea that its chaff contains about as much
wheat as any similar quantity of chaff has contained wheat.

The reason why you must avoid modern works at the beginning is simply
that you are not in a position to choose among modern works. Nobody
at all is quite in a position to choose with certainty among modern
works. To sift the wheat from the chaff is a process that takes an
exceedingly long time. Modern works have to pass before the bar of the